


Made Bare

by MistyMountainHop



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMountainHop/pseuds/MistyMountainHop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heartbroken Hyde considers his relationship with Jackie kaput. Too bad Jackie sees it differently. She intends to get a proper resolution with him, but breaking through his hostility—and getting past his wife—may well prove impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Replacements

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Hi, everyone! This is my first—and, likely, only—story to deal directly with season 8. It makes what isn't canon adhere to the show's previous seven years of characterization.

 CHAPTER ONE  
**REPLACEMENTS**

  _December 9, 1979  
  
Point Place, Wisconsin  
  
Eric Forman's Basement  
**…**_

Winter had iced over Wisconsin … and Jackie's life.  
  
She descended the Formans' stone staircase, and each step down caused her anxiety to rise. The retaining wall sheltered her from the wind, but it did nothing for the frozen ache in her chest. She'd been avoiding this place for three weeks. The last time she unlocked the basement's back door, nightmarish sounds sent her fleeing. Steven's throaty grunts and curses had burst from his room. Intensifying, ecstatic screams from his stripper-wife followed. The two of them were having sex, and Jackie heard it.  
  
She hadn't returned since that moment. She could still leave, but at the bottom of the stairs, she placed her gloved hand against the basement door. The wood wobbled under her touch, a sign the door was unlocked.  
  
She didn't need to be here. The basement held her happiest memories hostage, promising only harm. Maybe she was a masochist. She was certainly a fool. The race for Steven's heart had long been won, before she'd realized a contest was even being held. But she pushed open the basement door and strode inside.  
  
A Christmas tree stood tall within the open shower. The mere sight of it scraped over unhealing wounds. The tree was a white spruce, with blue-green needles and glittering ornaments, and it halted her entry. She remained behind Eric's low shelf of records, a few feet from the door, and Steven's voice cut into the air: “Yeah, see, if you open with moving your d4 pawn, you can work on capturing the center of the board.”  
  
Jackie hoped beyond hope he was high and talking to himself, but his stripper-wife's voice followed. “Okay, but then what would you do if I did that?”  
  
“I'd either move my d5 pawn to meet yours or my knight—like this.”  
  
Jackie held her breath and forced her gaze to the couch. Samantha, that blonde skank, was sitting in what used to be Jackie's spot, closest to Steven's chair. The Formans' old chessboard was set up on the side table.  
  
“It's called an Indian Defense,” Steven said, and his naked eyes flicked up from the board. “Don't ask me why.”  
  
His sunglasses were off, hooked on the collar of his shirt, and his brief but raw glance made Jackie stagger back. She had to escape, and very quietly, she edged out of the basement and closed the door.  
  
Her climb up the stairs ended on the third lowest step. The sun was already setting. She'd be standing in the dark soon, shivering in her winter coat, but the windows of her mind were lit. Memories stirred inside, casting long shadows.  
  
Two years ago, she and Steven had driven to a local Christmas tree farm. Mrs. Forman insisted they get the basement a tree, even gave them money for it. The farm's owner herself guided them from Scotch pines, whose needles almost never fell off, to balsam firs and white spruces. The tour was insisted upon after Jackie and Steven's impromptu game of tag through the trees.  
  
They picked a Scotch pine and, in the basement, trimmed it with classy but non-heirloom ornaments. The decorations were from Jackie's family's collection. The Formans' tacky ones would never do for a Burkhart-Hyde tree—but those tacky ornaments adorned the basement's tree now, that white spruce. Chosen and decorated, no doubt, by Steven and his stripper-wife.  
  
Had they chased each other through the tree farm, too? Did their breaths puff white in the chilled air as their laughter warmed them? Surely he hadn't hefted Samantha up to put ornaments higher on the tree. She was too tall and breast-heavy.  
  
Jackie turned on the stairs, intending to rush off, but a warning brightened in her thoughts. A warning from the tree farm's owner, something Steven clearly didn't remember.  
  
Jackie pushed the basement door open again. She sneaked back inside, and her skin prickled at the continuing chess lesson. It had grown lewd, full of sexual innuendo, but the white spruce was her main concern. She scraped needles off the tree, as many as she could. Then she mashed them under her boot. The basement would smell like skunk spray for at least a week.  
  
She smiled to herself. Steven and Samantha must've gotten the quick, uninformative tour of the tree farm. Otherwise, they'd have known white spruce needles stink when crushed. An odor resembling burnt rubber was already rising from the floor.  
  
“Enjoy,” she whispered and ducked outside into the cold.

* * *

“I should've sprinkled those stinky needles on Steven's cot!” Jackie had been pacing Donna's room the last few minutes, but she leaned her hip against Donna's desk. “Don't you see how appropriate that would be? Their marriage smells like death, so their marriage cot should, too.”  
  
“Great,” Donna said from her desk chair, “so the basement's going to be off-limits until it airs out.” Most of her attention was focused on writing a letter. She said nothing more about Jackie's plight but continued scribbling her thoughts—and dictating them out loud. “Eric, you have no clue how lucky you are right now. I could send you some shit-stinking, crushed white spruce needles, but I won't. You know why? Because I love you more than I'm mad at you.”  
  
She slammed her pen down, “Damn it!” and finally looked up. “I've bitched at him in every draft of this letter. He's never gonna wanna come back home if he gets this.”  
  
“Oh, of course he will.” Jackie sat on Donna's bed and sucked in a deep, exasperated breath. “He's gonna be tired of diddling himself over there, and you're the only woman in the world who's willing to touch him.”  
  
“Um … ew? This has nothing to do about sex. He should've talked to me about going to—”  
  
“Africa first,” Jackie said. She'd heard this litany dozens of times. “You could've found a program to attend together, _blah, blah, blah._ Everyone in the town gets it, all right? Repeating it a thousand times won't change things. All you can do is be angry and make him kiss your butt the year he gets home.”  
  
“ _And_ make sure he never makes a unilateral decision like that again.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“So...” Donna pulled her pen off the desk and twirled it between her fingers, “why exactly did you funk-up the basement? Did you walk in on Hyde and Sam again, having...?”  
  
“Worse. Much, much worse.” Jackie gripped the edge of the bed. “They were playing chess!”  
  
“Oh, my God—the bastard! We should castrate him!”  
  
“We should!” she said, ignoring the tone of Donna's sympathy. “Do you know how to do that? I'm sure your hick-family castrated bulls or sheep or something. They must've shown you when you visited them on the Pinciotti family farm.”  
  
“My extended family's from New Jersey! We don't have a farm.” Donna shook her head. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”  
  
“Oh, whatever.” Jackie was in no mood to memorize facts about Donna's family. “You don't understand how horrible this is. Within three months, Steven's completely replaced me with a spangly stranger. I spent almost three years digging my way into that man's heart and mind, and the slutball's done it like that!” She snapped her fingers. “She probably lubed herself up and slid down the tunnels I excavated.”  
  
“Jackie,” Donna said, “I am _so_ the wrong person to talk about this. Yeah, I complain about the Africa-thing to you, but I'm at least _trying_ to tell my feelings to the right person— _Eric._ You have to do the same thing or find a way to move on.”  
  
A shard of awareness lodged in Jackie's spine, and her eyes widened. “You're right!”  
  
“Thank you.” Donna smiled wistfully. “Wish I'd taped you saying that.”  
  
“I need Eric's address in Africa.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
“I'm taking your advice and speaking to the right person about Steven and his stripper-wife.”  
  
Donna stared at her. “ _Eric's_ the right person?”  
  
“Yes!” Jackie scooted forward on the bed, and she clasped her hands together, praying Donna would believe her. “Eric never would've let Steven stay married to Samantha. Out of all of us, even me, Eric knows him best.”  
  
“Yeah … he does.” Donna opened a drawer in her desk. Then she pulled out a small address book. “Just leave me out of whatever you tell him.”  
  
“I won't even mention your name.”

* * *

 _Dear Eric,_ Jackie's letter began, but he wasn't exactly dear to her. She more tolerated him, but writing, _Tolerated Eric,_ wouldn't inspire his empathy. _  
  
_ She tapped her pen on the letter and mentally searched her vocabulary. She needed a more accurate but kind opening salutation, but her gaze drifted to her wall. She'd painted a rainbow on it when she'd first moved in with Fez. He wasn't home with her now. Even with Michael in Chicago, Fez insisted on hanging out in Eric's basement. So did Donna, though Eric was in Africa.  
  
This apartment should've been the new go-to spot. Their _grownup_ hang-out. Was Jackie's banishment of Steven from here such a big deal?  
  
Evidently, it was. Fez and Donna refused to shun him like she'd asked. That required her to spend time in the basement and Grooves, Steven's record store—or else sacrifice seeing her two best friends, despite that she lived with one of them. Fez probably enjoyed the basement's new foul odor. Maybe it reminded him of his native land.  
  
Their loyalty to Steven was frustrating, but their loyalty to Jackie hadn't wavered either. Fez and Donna were doing their best to remain neutral, but Eric hadn't experienced the new Steven. His allegiance was to the old one, and Jackie resumed composing her letter.  
  
She left the _Dear Eric_ as written and explained in detail the ways Steven had replaced her with his stripper-wife. _How could he trust her so quickly?_ she wrote afterward. _He had a hard enough time fully committing to me. Why didn't he put Samantha through the trials I went through?  
  
_ She stopped writing as apprehension crushed against her ribs. It squeezed her heart and lungs so tightly she became dizzy. She put the pen down and breathed slowly through her nose. Steven was no longer someone she recognized, but he hadn't suffered a traumatic brain injury. He wasn't schizophrenic. His behavior had to be grounded in conscious, deliberate motivations.  
  
_So what's really going on?_ she wrote a few moments later. _What do I do, Eric? I feel completely betrayed ... and I'm not saying I want him back, but I have to resolve this situation somehow.  
_

* * *

A week after Jackie mailed her letter to Eric, all reports were that the basement was accessible again. According to all reports, Mr. Forman had cordoned it off and made Steven pay for some industrial fans to _air out his mess._ The white spruce was gone, replaced with a tree the Formans had chosen themselves. Steven and his stripper-wife, meanwhile, had spent that week in Laurie's room. It was a fitting place for them, the skankiest skank den of them all.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Fez said. His image stood beside Jackie's in their bathroom mirror. Her most expensive cosmetics were scattered on the sink, and he picked up her tube of mascara. “If the blonde whore upsets you so much, why go? I would stay away if some magnificent bastard had taken my place.”  
  
“Because Steven can't realize the effect he's having on me. My absence would tell him everything.” She dabbed her lips with a paper towel. Her makeup was exactly the way Steven liked it, not too heavy. His favorite perfume enhanced her natural smell, and her body was clad in a curve-hugging top and pair of jeans. Imagining her naked would be easy, especially for one who'd experienced that glory for real.  
  
Fez put down the mascara. Then he held her hands and studied them. “You are wearing do-me-now red on your nails.” He shoved her hands away. “Ai, they are giving me needs.”  
  
“Well, I hope you won't be the only one.”  
  
She primped for a few more minutes before she and Fez went downstairs. The building's garage smelled like motor oil, but her father's Lincoln was waiting for them. Her mother had returned the car—in good condition—after returning herself from Tijuana. Then she'd flown to Europe with her latest rich boyfriend, Julius. Even from so far away, Jackie still felt her mother's influence. Her current plan came directly from Pamela Burkhart's playbook.  
  
Part one of that plan was going to the Formans'. Jackie drove Fez across town in the Lincoln. She parked in the Formans' driveway and followed him down the stone staircase. He opened the basement door, and a thick citrus scent wafted out into the cold. “Oh, this is much better than before!” Fez said. “Miss Kitty's experiment worked.”  
  
Jackie took shallow breaths upon entering the basement. “What experiment?”  
  
“Red set up a hot plate down here,” Donna said from the duct-taped couch. “Mrs. Forman's got a big pot of stuff simmering constantly.”  
  
“Extra bonus, it covers up the circle like nothin' else,” Steven said while looking at Donna. He was sitting in his chair with Samantha wedged between his legs. She was using the padded foot stool for a chair, just as Jackie used to.  
  
No, not asJackie used to. Samantha was too gangly to sit so low to the ground. She had her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles, but Steven supported her back. His hands were resting on her hips. They appeared comfortable there, familiar. But his arms must've been getting tired, considering how top-heavy Samantha was.  
  
“Well, it's a good thing my date was yesterday, not today,” Jackie said loudly over the television. “Otherwise, this smell would've embedded in my hair and clothes.” She sat down next to Donna on the couch, and Fez pulled the lawn chair in close. “I don't think Danny would've appreciated that.”  
  
“No, he most certainly wouldn't have,” Fez said, also loudly. He was in on her plan, and even if Steven acted like the conversation didn't reach him, he'd definitely hear it.  
  
“Donna,” Jackie planted her hand on Donna's knee to get her attention, “Danny made love to me in the most incredible way last night.”  
  
“Uh...” discomfort twisted Donna's features, “that was fast. You met him, like, four days ago.”  
  
“No, he wasn't fast at all. He ramped up the intensity perfectly.” Jackie was speaking with a scratchy-throated lust she knew drove Steven wild. Donna, though, seemed like she wanted to fly from the basement. Jackie had kept her in the dark, allowing her to think Daniel was someone Jackie had actually started dating. “I've never orgasmed like that before, so fully from the inside out. I didn't have to fake a thing...” she fanned herself, “which is such a relief after two-boyfriends' worth of doing that.”  
  
“Wow, that's...” Donna stood up. “Anybody want anything from the kitchen?”  
  
“Nah, I'm good,” Steven said.  
  
“I would like some peach cobbler,” Fez said.  
  
Donna headed for the wooden staircase. “Sorry, I don't think Mrs. Forman can whip one of those up for you in five minutes. But I'll try to find you something sugary.”  
  
“Thank you, Donna!” Fez shouted, but he lowered the volume as she disappeared up the stairs. “Now _that_ is a sweet woman. Eric should leave for Africa more often.”  
  
Steven let out one of his quiet, single laughs. “Right.”  
  
“Sweet? She's been really bitchy to me,” Samantha said. She got off the foot stool and sat on the couch, in Donna's vacated spot. “But who cares about her?” She patted Jackie's arm. “Tell me about the sex!”  
  
Jackie's instinct was to recoil—Samantha was freaking touching her—but she controlled herself. Her usurper was falling into the plan perfectly. “Sure,” Jackie said. “Ask away.”  
  
“What position—or positions—got you going last night?”  
  
“Don't you mean coming?” Fez said. He snort-chuckled, and Jackie stole a glimpse at Steven. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and his gaze was trained on the television.  
  
“I was lying on my back,” Jackie said, trying to keep her voice steady, “on the edge of his bed. He knelt on the floor, and my legs went over his shoulders, and—”  
  
“I love it when Hyde does that to me!” Samantha smiled brightly, with no hint of deviousness. That was unexpected. She always seemed to have Jackie-burns saved up. “He gets in so deeply with that position,” she went on. “Did he ever do that with you?”  
  
The question was innocent, not baiting, and the lack of animosity was refreshing. Steven, apparently, felt differently. A scowl had darkened his face, and he said, “Could you two maybe _not_ discuss me fucking you?”  
  
Samantha glanced back at him. “Don't be so uptight, honey.”  
  
“Yes, honey,” Fez echoed, “don't be so uptight.”  
  
Jackie nodded. “That was his problem when we dated. We did that position plenty of times, but his technique was bad. He needed to loosen up.” She returned Samantha's pat to the arm. “From what I've heard, it sounds like you've helped him do that—” she grinned widely, flashing all her teeth, “so good for you!”  
  
“Thank you!” Samantha said. “It's strange, though. My body's flexible, but not alien-flexible. I've had to tell him more than once I'm a stripper, not a contortionist.”  
  
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Jackie hid her disgust with fake giggles. “That's my fault. See, I was a champion cheerleader, and I used to get into all sorts of positions with him, hoping it would inspire—well, _more_ than he was giving me.”  
  
Steven's chair scraped on the basement's concrete floor. “Gonna see what's taking Donna so damn long,” he said, and Jackie didn't watch him leave. She listened as his footsteps faded up the wooden staircase.  
  
_Victory.  
_

* * *

Hyde pushed his back against the kitchen counter. His hands clutched the edge, and he tried to control his breathing. He failed. “What's with Jackie, huh?”  
  
“What're you talking about?” Donna said. She was seated at the breakfast table, eating a bowl of soup. A pot was on the stove. She obviously had no intention of returning to the basement, instead opting for an early dinner.  
  
“First, she comes to the basement dressed like _that,_ ” he said, but Donna didn't seem to understand. Jackie's outfit had let him envision everything he could no longer touch. She'd put on his favorite perfume of hers, too— _Beauty of the Night._ Hints of its jasmine scent had cut through the basement's citrus fog.  
  
Then again, he was conditioned to the smell of oranges and lemons, thanks to Sam's preferred perfumes. Maybe Jackie's smell stood out simply by being different. Either that, or she'd made herself a flower purposely, to attract a one kind of animal, _him._  
  
“What was all of that sex-talk, huh? Fakin' orgasms—” he gripped the counter harder, “and who the hell is Danny?”  
  
Donna shrugged and continued eating her soup.  
  
“Hey, Donna, man … come on.” His hands relaxed, and he left the counter to sit at the table. “I gotta know if Jackie's screwin' with me or not.”  
  
“I'm staying out of it, Hyde. Any games you want to play with Jackie are your business.”  
  
“I don't wanna play any games. That's the fuckin' point. Is this whole Danny deal phony or not?”  
  
“Well, I've never met him—”  
  
A smile slid over his lips. “So it isbullshit.”  
  
“I didn't say that.” She clanked her spoon against the bowl. “I don't track Jackie's every move. I'm not the U.S. government.”  
  
He pushed an audible breath through his nose. Donna was no help. Her patience had been worn out by Forman—probably by Hyde, too.  
  
“What do you care anyway?” she said. “You're married to a living blowup doll. Don't tell me the mystery's gone after only three months, that you've gotten bored.”  
  
“No, I...” He scratched the back of his neck. His nails dug into his skin, making it burn. “'Mystery' is overrated.”

* * *

The Camino sped down Green Bay Road. Driving usually cleared Hyde's head. He'd told no one he was going. Just left. But the events of September were inescapable. They roamed his neural pathways like a wild bear, devouring any scrap of serenity until nothing was left.

  
He eased his foot off the gas pedal as the memories tore through him. His life had already been totaled. He didn't need to wreck his car, too.

* * *

 _September 23, 1979  
  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
  
The Cellar of Delight  
_ **_…_ **

The Cellar of Delight was a middle-of-the-road strip club. Too clean to be called a dive, too trashy to be considered upscale. But it was a palace compared to Hyde's craphole motel. Everything there was either cracked, peeling, or stained.  
  
Affording a nice hotel wasn't the issue. The credit card W.B. gave him for emergencies had a high limit _,_ but he didn't want to be tracked. He'd brought a sizable chunk of money to Chicago. Thought he'd be staying with Jackie for a while. What a fucking fool.  
  
The trip to Las Vegas had taken two days. He was looking for distraction, but the Cellar of Delight was no delight—even after a good amount of sleep, grub, and pot. He didn't want to be here, but Jackie squatted in his every cell. He had to evict her, yet he stared at the club's padded door.  
  
Leaving wasn't an option, but the strippers' stage didn't compel him. His body refused to move in any direction. until a bouncer glared at him. Then Hyde turned from the door, and the club's thumping, crummy music swallowed him up.  
  
He searched for a table away from everything and everyone, somewhere he could drink himself into a stupor. He found the perfect spot by a thick red curtain. He ensconced himself there, kept his back toward the stage, and ordered beer after beer.  
  
“Don't you want to see the dancers?” his waitress eventually said. She pointed over his shoulder. “The stage is that way.”  
  
“I know, and I don't. Just get me 'nother beer.”  
  
“Well, instead of being bored and drunk, you could play some games. We have a little arcade right behind this curtain.” She pulled back the red curtain, revealing _Space Invaders, Ms. Pac-Man,_ and _Jacks Open Pinball.  
  
_ Pinball? Man, that was exactly what he needed. He stood up unsteadily and went to the pinball machine. “Keep the beer comin' every ten minutes.”  
  
The waitress nodded. “Got it.”  
  
Hyde pulled the curtain back around the game area for privacy. No one else was here. They were too busy staring at the strippers, just like he should've been. But the only place his dollar bills slid into was the coin change machine.  
  
Eleven quarters sat heavily in his jeans pocket, and he shoved a twelfth into the pinball machine. A steel ball rolled on top of the plunger. He launched the sucker hard, and it bounced around the upper bumpers. The game rattled and beeped as the ball racked up points, but his eyes fixed on the space below the score counter. The title, _Jacks Open,_ was lit up in red and white. _Jackie's Open Legs._ How hard had Kelso launched himself inside her?  
  
Hyde slapped the flippers, and they became Jackie's legs in his beery haze. She'd opened them back up so easily for that fucker, all because Hyde had been too slow.  
  
His palms slammed the flippers again. Ironic that pinball could've prevented all of this crap. He'd wanted to play it the night of Jackie's ultimatum. Forman didn't. Forman was leaving for Africa in a few days, so Forman had veto power over their activities.  
  
Hyde should've gone to The Hub anyway. Then Jackie wouldn't have found him in the basement. He might have—what? Delayed the inevitable? She still would've pushed him into something he wasn't ready for. Nineteen Goddamn years-old, but his heart pulled to the left anyway, for marriage. Then finding her with Kelso made it swerve to the right ... to a nudie bar.  
  
_This_ nudie bar.  
  
He quit thinking about it and drank beer until his game became shit. His reaction time had dulled. Balls plummeted down the drain before he could press the flippers. He'd soon have to choose what to spend his dough on—more quarters or booze.  
  
Or maybe he'd spend it on maintaining his privacy. A brunette wearing a trench coat pushed aside the red curtain and entered his personal space. She leaned her hip against the pinball machine and said, “What're you doing back here?”  
  
“What's it look like?”  
  
“I'm on break.”  
  
“Good for you.” He punched the right flipper and propelled the ball into a kicker. “Go have it somewhere else.”  
  
He was nastier than he should've been, but his future had been blown to hell. The substances in his system hadn't improved his disposition, either. They were messing with his already muddled thoughts. _Drive back to Chicago … give Jackie the ring he'd intended to buy … keep her … fuck her._  
  
His fingers remained on the flippers, and the brunette stayed in his personal space. She didn't seem fazed by his attitude at all, but he wouldn't give the attention she wanted. He continued to play _Jackie's Open Legs_ and said, “Already got a waitress.”  
  
She laughed. “Waitress? You obviously didn't see my act. I choreographed the girls to ABBA's “Dancing Queen”.  
  
“ABBA...” His last ball fell into the drain, and he gave the brunette a once-over. She was taller than Jackie, bustier, more hippy, but something in her face reminded him too much of what he'd lost. “You're a stripper.”  
  
“Exotic dancer.”  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
“'Whatever,' huh?” Her fingertips scratched up his sideburns, and the back of his neck prickled. Her invasion of him was deepening. She tried to remove his shades, and he smacked her hands off his face.  
  
“You're not interested in tits?” she said.  
  
“Not yours.”  
  
“Really.” She yanked the red curtain back around the game area. Then she removed her trench coat, revealing a body barely covered by lingerie. Her breasts were huge—four-times the size of Jackie's—and the rest of her was too thin, but his dick responded.  
  
He didn't like the sensation, getting hard for someone other than Jackie. But the brunette chuckled in triumph. She'd noticed her effect on his body and cupped him over his jeans.  
  
“Not payin' you,” he said.  
  
“Like I said, I'm on break. Usually, I play some games to cool down. Let's play one together.” She unbuckled his belt and opened his fly, as if she'd done it thousands of times. Her hand slipped inside his briefs and began to massage him. “A big boy, huh? This is gonna be fun.”  
  
He had no will to stop her. He was trashed and in love with someone he couldn't have. Loved her … and she'd cheated on him. He didn't want to cheat back, but the brunette was already on her knees, swallowing him whole.  
  
His mind drowned in signals from his nerve endings, and when he regained a shred of awareness, Jackie was sitting on the pinball machine. She had no clothes on, and his first impulse was to cover her up. His arms glided around her back, and his body blocked hers from view.  
  
“You followed me?” he said.  
  
“Wow,” Jackie said with a voice that didn't sound right, “you are really drunk.”  
  
“Can't freakin' think straight, doll.”  
  
“'Doll'?” Her legs wrapped around his waist. “I like that.”  
  
“I know.” He smiled into her dark hair, feeling better than he had in days. “What're you doin' here? What 'bout Kelso?”  
  
Jackie giggled. “Oh, boy … you've definitely had too much. And maybe more than just alcohol. You would've passed out had I finished sucking you off,” she giggled again, “but sometimes a girl's gotta stop and get hers.” She reached down between their bodies. He was hard as hell, and she slid something over his dick. “That'll protect both of us. One can never be too sure in Vegas.”  
  
“I'm sure,” he said.  
  
“Of course you are.” She guided him to her entrance. “I hope you know what to do now—oh!”  
  
He thrust into her, over and over again. No doubts left, man. Jackie was the only chick for him. She'd gotten over the nurse … so he'd get over Kelso.  
  
She held onto his back tightly, beneath his denim jacket and shirt. Her fingernails scraped his skin, and the face he was kissing flickered into a stranger's before returning to Jackie's.  
  
Pressure built up in his hips, and she whispered her climax at him—not his name, just God's—with shock. His own release followed quickly. His forehead, damp with sweat, dropped onto her shoulder. “Let's get hitched,” he said.  
  
“You're plastered.”  
  
“That's how my parents got married, only I won't regret it in the mornin'.”  
  
“Okay, I understood about half that. You're slurring.”  
  
“Fuck, Grasshopper … you wanna get married, so let's get married already.”  
  
“In the club?”  
  
“Wherever. Just...” he hugged her tiredly, “need you in my life. Let's go.”

Jackie disentangled herself from his arms. Then she hopped off the pinball machine so quickly she became a blur. A few deep breaths from him sharpened her up. She pulled on a pair of spangled panties—but someone else had worn those panties earlier.  
  
“Don't,” he said. “They're dirty. Could be full of bad … bad shit.”  
  
“I'm not getting married nude.” She put on a bra that matched the panties. Then she shrugged on a trench coat He stared at it, at her. None of this made any sense. That trench coat, someone else had worn it, but Jackie was right. She couldn't get married nude.  
  
“You gonna wear your pants around your ankles while you say, 'I do'?” she said.  
  
“Oh, uh...” He looked down at himself, and dizziness spun through his head. It destroyed his fragile balance, but Jackie caught him before he crashed through the red curtain  
  
“I know of a cute little chapel down the road,” she said. “It's called Weddings and Waffles.”  
  
“Great.” He slung his arm around her shoulders, but she slipped free of him and pulled up his briefs and jeans.  
  
“We'll have to clean you up later—before the honeymoon.”  
  
He grinned drunkenly. “Gonna have a naughty-bad honeymoon.”  
  
“We sure will … if you're conscious. You actually made me come. Not a lot of men can do that.”  
  
“So you're sayin' Kelso didn't?”  
  
“I've never met him, so no. He didn't.”  
  
Hyde didn't understand any of her answer except for _no,_ but it was all he needed. “Good,” he said, and she pushed open the red curtain.  
  
He awoke the next morning feeling worse than death. He'd had a horrific _Exorcist_ dream with a cross, an altar, and an Elvis impersonator. His eyes hurt to open, but through his lashes he saw his crappy motel room. Worse, a woman he must've met at some bar was lying beside him.  
  
He didn't kick her out, not that day or the next three weeks. He medicated his dying heart with booze and her body, and she nursed him through twenty hangovers. After the twenty-first, he bailed and drove back to Wisconsin.  
  
He'd left Vegas just in time, before he did something stupid.

* * *

  _December 17, 1979  
  
Point Place, Wisconsin  
  
Grooves  
_ **_…_ **

“I never learn, man,” Hyde muttered. He was filing through receipts in his office, checking his written records against them. He had little brain power for work, though. His drive had done nothing to unscrew his thoughts. For such a chatterbox, Samantha knew how to keep her trap shut. During their three weeks together in Las Vegas, she'd never said a word about their marriage. It existed only in his nightmares until she showed up at the Formans', where he'd barely recognized her.  
  
He closed the store's ledger. Unlike Grooves' receipts, certain facts about his relationship with Sam didn't add up. She'd cut off most of her hair before leaving Vegas and bleached it blonde. Was it just a change of style or was she hiding from someone? He'd never asked and didn't plan to.  
  
Keeping shit simple was his objective. Married to a freakin' stripper, a wedding he hardly remembered—his mom's predictions about him had come true.. He'd tried to deny it to himself, but then Sam produced a marriage certificate and pictures. The cross, the altar, and the Elvis impersonator were all real. The wedding was real.  
  
Yet, despite the visual evidence, he'd held out hope the marriage was a joke. Then she told him, in great detail, how they'd met. That he'd fucked her, not Jackie, on the pinball machine. His secret delusion, neither a secret nor a delusion.  
  
He unlocked a desk drawer and lifted out a bottle of bourbon. It was half-empty, drained slowly over the last two months. The other half wouldn't take as long to go.

* * *

* * *

**Stock Used for Cover Art:  
**

  * [Xmas tree png 5](http://iamszissz.deviantart.com/art/Xmas-tree-png-5-398885960)
  * [Christmas lights bokeh](http://mylittlebluesky.deviantart.com/art/Christmas-lights-bokeh-277403594)
  * [Bokeh texture xmas 3](http://francescadelfino.deviantart.com/art/Bokeh-texture-xmas-3-342998909)
  * [Texture 390](http://sirius-sdz.deviantart.com/art/Texture-390-405587576)
  * [Border vii](http://struckdumb.deviantart.com/art/Border-vii-85637109)
  * [brown abstract texture grunge](http://beckas.deviantart.com/art/brown-abstract-texture-grunge-145739434)




	2. Emetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 

 

CHAPTER TWO  
 **EMETIC**

_December 23, 1979_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Jackie and Fez's Apartment_

**_…_ **

Jackie had little time to read Eric's letter. She'd rushed downstairs to the mailboxes as soon as she was dressed and plucked out the envelope. The Formans would be driving by the building any minute to pick up her and Fez. They were going to the Kenosha Christmas County Fair, all of them—Donna, Steven, and his stripper-wife included—but she pushed that fact from her thoughts and thanked God Eric hadn't dawdled in writing her back.

 _Jackie,_ his letter began.

_Don't play games. Tell Hyde how you actually feel. Be honest with him, but don't expect him to return the favor. He lives up to his name and hides. I'd bet my monthly ration of ketchup that his marriage to the stripper is camouflage, and he won't come out of hiding until he thinks it's safe or worth it._

— _Eric_

_P.S. Don't show this letter to Hyde. Donna knows where you live, and I've given her instructions in case you try to screw me over._

_P.P.S. Send me a picture of the stripper._

Jackie stuffed the letter back into her mailbox. She couldn't risk Steven finding it on her—but not because of Eric's threat. She knew too many of Donna's secrets and could blackmail her into submission. No, Steven had to remain ignorant of Jackie's intentions, of how dedicated she was to resolving their relationship.

She locked the mailbox and met Fez outside the lobby stairwell. "Jackie," he said, "you have outdone yourself."

"I know." She combed fingers through her hair. She looked damn good today. Not glamorous-good but _Steven_ -good. She'd put together an outfit that was sexy because of its casualness. A thin cardigan covered the top of her navy-blue jumpsuit. Her pant legs went into calf-high boots, and her hair was silky straight instead of curled. "I think he's beginning to crack, Fez," she said. "He's gone from outright ignoring me to burning me. That has to be a sign, right?"

"The sonuvabitch had no right to ignore you at all." Fez glowered. "I'm enjoying all the sex-talk between you and his whore—so is the little man in my pants—but you must have boobs of steel. You're listening to stories about Hyde sleeping with a woman who is not you."

His compliment heated Jackie's cheeks. Her breasts were actually soft and supple, but she had developed a thick skin. "I'm also giving that skank advice about what Steven likes—in _front of him—_ as if I'm completely over it. Have you seen how his beard is growing back? I think it's in direct response to me."

"I think it's because he stopped shaving."

"Yes, he stopped shaving _because of me,_ " she said, but a honk outside kept her from saying more. The Vista Cruiser had pulled up to their building. Mr. Forman wasn't known for his patience, so she and Fez hurried through the lobby's front door.

The winter air froze Jackie through her clothes. She wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, but the Vista Cruiser would eliminate that problem, at least for a little while. Concerning her more was what she'd find inside the car—Steven with his arm around his stripper-wife—but only Donna was sitting with him in the back seat. Donna and her thick winter coat.

"Samantha's not coming?" Jackie whispered to Fez.

"Doesn't look like it … damn it! I was hoping for a Christmas strip-tease."

"You go sit in the front with the Formans." She urged Fez forward then strolled nonchalantly to Steven's side of the car. She opened the door and said, "Scoot over."

"Nope," Steven said and barely glanced at her. "Not movin'. But Red's got some rope in the trunk. We could tie you to the 'Cruiser's roof."

She frowned with mock-sympathy. "Sorry. Your wife told me about that one time you tied her up. According to her, you're not very good with knots."

"Yeah..." a cruel smirk pulled at his lips, "wouldn't want your splattered body blocking traffic on the highway."

"Well, you're about to have a choice concerning my body." She shoved herself into the car, onto his lap, and he jerked toward Donna, as if Jackie were covered in thorns. His elbow nudged Jackie in the side, and she landed on his vacated, warmed-up spot of the back seat. "Thank you, _Puddin' Pop,_ " she said and shut the car door.

He mumbled something, and his discomfort gave her no small measure of satisfaction. They had a half-hour drive to the Kenosha Fairgrounds, a half-hour in close proximity to each other. Plenty of time to burrow under his skin.

She let out a theatrical sigh. "I can't believe Samantha ditched us. Where is she?"

"Stripper convention," Donna said.

"They have those?" Fez shouted from the front seat. "Why the hell am I going to the County Fair?"

"Red," Mrs. Forman said, and Mr. Forman turned on the car radio. Christmas tunes blasted from the speaker, and he drove away from the building.

Jackie pressed herself against Steven's arm, to get a better view of Donna. "Donna, guess what!" she said, but Steven elbowed her off him.

"Okay, this is my freakin' personal space." He gestured around his body. "You trespass, you die."

"I 'die'? Really?" Stinging tears and laughter fought for release, but she suppressed them both. His statement had no finesse. Even before they dated, he'd cushioned his hostility. But now? Any protectiveness he'd felt toward her seemed to be gone. "Anyway, Donna?"

"Yes?" Donna said flatly. "Wait, no. If this is about Danny, I don't want to hear it."

Jackie took no real offense. Donna had become an unwitting victim in this scheme, but as part of that scheme, Jackie had to feign umbrage. "I shared almost nothing of what Steven and I used to do way back when," she said, "and my advice helped you and Eric have the best sex of your lives. So you damn well better listen, Pinciotti."

Steven leaned his head back and groaned. "Kill me."

"Uh-uh." Donna jabbed a finger in his face. "This is your fault. If anyone gets killed, it'll me."

"My fault?"

"Yeah. Your stripper-marriage and stripper-sexcapades broke the lock on whatever inhibitions Jackie had left."

"No, she was slutty long before I met Sam," he said, "goin' from Kelso to me. Back to Kelso. Back to me … then back to Kelso. I'm just waitin' for her to move onto Fez and then maybe Bob."

"Oh!" Jackie's fist slammed down onto Steven's crotch. He let out a whimper and crumpled to the car floor.

"Jackie!" Donna glared at her, but then her face softened. "Huh. I might've done the same thing to Eric for..." She looked at Steven. He was curled in the fetal position. "Hyde, you earned that one."

Tears finally rose in Jackie's eyes, and she stared out passenger-side window. Evergreens and trees bare of leaves sped by. Wind shook their branches, and she shivered. Her cardigan wouldn't keep her warm at all today.

She hugged herself, and the unwanted memory of Steven holding her surfaced in her body. It made her tremble harder, shook the tears from her eyes. What did he have to be so angry at? She was the injured party in their relationship, not him. But he was angry and—more significantly—showing it. No emotional withdrawal, no Zen-like distance. If she could trigger his hostility, could she trigger other feelings in him, too?

"Red, pull over," Steven said after he recovered. "I gotta switch seats."

"What's that?" Mr. Forman said. "Can't hear you over the radio."

"I gotta switch seats, man! I can't sit back here with her."

"Sorry, son. We're making good time. I want to get to that fair before the entry line becomes intolerable."

Jackie allowed herself a secret smile. Mr. Forman was on her side, had to be. He couldn't be happy with Steven's latest life choices, and he was making Steven pay for them.

"Donna, you're gonna have to climb over me," Steven said.

"No way. I want the window. You can have it on ride way back."

"Shit."

"Don't be such a coward, Steven," Jackie said. "I won't punch you in the 'nads again—not unless you earn it again."

He turned his back on her. "Whatever."

The backseat became a no-talking zone afterward. The next twenty minutes crawled by like an hour, but the Vista Cruiser eventually pulled up to the fairgrounds. Mr. Forman parked in the expansive parking lot. Everyone exited the car, and a freezing gust of wind blew against them. Jackie zipped up her cardigan. She was definitely not dressed for the weather, but Steven wasn't either. He had on a plaid shirt and a fleece-lined suede vest.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and ran his palms up and down his biceps. "Super."

"Oh, you silly sonuvabitch," Fez said. "You should have worn a coat."

"You'll be wearing my fist in your face if you call me that again." Steven uncrossed his arms and moved menacingly toward him. "That's the hundredth damn time this week."

Donna blocked his path. "Hyde, cut it the hell out already. We get it. You're cranky, and you probably should've stayed home. But you're here for the same reason I am, so try to make the best of it."

"Fine." He backed off. "Sorry."

"I'm not the person you should be apologizing to," Donna said, and she hooked her arm with Jackie's. "Come on. Let's win some prizes. Maybe I can send Eric a stuffed Darth Vader doll."

The Formans led the way to the fairgrounds, and despite the chilled air, Jackie began to feel warmer.

* * *

Hyde had taken shelter within the fair's beer garden. Christmas lights were wound around the skeletal trees, and the metal chair he sat on froze his ass. But Santa's busty elves kept the beer flowing, so he had no complaints. Not until Jackie's boots clacked on the garden's terracotta tiles.

"Steven, we have to talk," she said.

" _We_ don't have to do crap. You gotta go." He wasn't drunk yet. Just buzzed, but his emotional control had left a long time ago. Whenever he looked at Jackie, he was looking at the impossible. His stomach ached as if he hadn't eaten in days, chills wriggled under his skin like eels, and useless words thickened in his throat.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Then I'll go." He downed the last of his beer, slid a ten-dollar bill beneath the mug, and stood. This was not how he'd planned for the day to go. He'd planned on drinking himself sick, blacking out, then waking up in his cot the next day.

"I'll just follow you," she said. "I'm very good at stalking and talking."

"Don't wanna hear it." He strode toward the beer garden gates, but she pursued him.

"God, you really are such a coward! Afraid of some words."

"And you're pathetic."

Outside the gates, he bolted into a dense stand of spruce trees. She followed, but they were alone. That was good. The last thing he needed was an audience, especially for the hell Jackie was about to unleash.

"You replaced me!" she said, and fury burned in her eyes. Blood flushed her cheeks. "Do you remember our second Valentine's Day? That night in your room?" She moved in close to him, too close. Her breath enveloped his face in white clouds. "We were making love, and you said—"

He backed away and hit a tree trunk. Alcohol had dulled his reflexes, but he wasn't that far gone. He sidestepped Jackie and got behind her. She whirled around, but she wouldn't corner him again. He grasped her hand and caught her off guard.

"You replaced me first," he said and escorted her to the tree. He trapped her against it, not with force but with the proximity of his body. "But I was second in line." Their breaths collided in white smoke as he released her hand. "I was the original replacement."

"You couldn't look at me," she said, as if he'd said nothing. "You were too overwhelmed, but your mouth was right by my ear." Her palms slid over his vest. "You told me I was everything to you. _'You're fuckin' everything.'_ I'd heard it, and yet you evicted me so easily—"

He shuffled back from the tree, for both his and Jackie's safety. A need for control was building, metabolizing into physical action. He'd already used his body to intimidate her, not that she'd noticed. The tactic was one his mother had used on him, a destructive behavior he'd mostly shed, but base instinct was taking over. Truths he'd fought so hard to hide were coiling around his neck.

"Steven, stop! Please, don't leave."

"I didn't sleep with Sam when she first got to the Formans'," he said, and a wave of fear crested at his skull. His need for honesty was pushing back his survival reflexes. "She wanted to pick up where we'd left off in Vegas, but I believed you. I know you didn't nail Kelso in Chicago."

Jackie's hands twisted in the pockets of her cardigan. "So why—?"

She hadn't moved from the tree, but he trudged even farther away. He'd given her more than enough information, more than she deserved. "Look, if Danny's not doin' it for ya, maybe Fez'll be your go-to fuck. But whatever plot you got brewin' in that head of yours, leave me out of it."

"What did I do?" She peered up at the gray sky. "Why did you replace me?"

His eyes squeezed shut. Her voice was so earnest, so pained. "You're askin' the wrong guy," he said. "The one you want's in Chicago."

"Michael?"

"Your 'soulmate'."

"What?" Her boots thumped on the ground, and his eyes popped open. Her hands grabbed at his vest before he could stop them. She was yanking at him, trying to pull him somewhere or provoke some kind of response. He allowed her neither. "Damn it, Steven!" She gave him one last jostle, shoving her knuckles into his stomach. "You hear one piece of gossip and dive between a stripper's legs?"

"You denyin' you called Kelso that?"

"No, but—"

"So we got nothin' else to talk about. You've got a new screw. I've got a screw. We're good."

He headed back toward the beer garden, but she didn't leave his side. "There is no Danny, okay? I made him up."

"Why're you tellin' me this?" He sped up his pace and charged into the beer garden. Nausea was churning in his stomach—too much Jackie, man. Too much of the impossible, but she wouldn't quit following him. "Sam's easy," he said and sat at an unoccupied table.

"Samantha's easy, huh?" Her tone was devoid of humor. She wasn't going for the obvious burn.

He motioned to a waitress. The bells on her elf costume jingled as she bustled over to him, but his focus was on Jackie. "You wanna watch me get drunk, be my guest."

"Thanks for the invitation." She sat down at the table as he told the waitress his order. Then the waitress jingled away, and Jackie's brow furrowed She was thinking about something, hard. He considered disrupting her—until she nodded sadly.

The waitress returned with two bottles of Schlitz and two glass mugs. She poured the beer into the mugs but not quickly enough. Jackie's sadness had tunneled into him. "Yeah," he said when the waitress left, "Sam's easy."

"Well, if you're happy with her..." Jackie's voice was tense, and she inhaled a quavering breath, "truly happy, then I'll give you what you want. I'll treat you casually, as if we'd never been in a relationship. Our past together will be meaningless, a hiccup of fate, a blip in time."

"Cool." He took a swallow of beer, but his hand had a slight tremor to it. The winter air must've seeped past his clothes and into his bones.

"But I will say this," she continued. "I think you and Eric are soulmates, too."

He choked on his beer and coughed. "What?"

"Soulmates aren't just romantic, Steven. They're two people who are deeply connected, for better or for worse. Siblings can be soulmates, as can parents and their children. And friends—" She stopped talking as a blast of bitter wind punched through the beer garden. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands. "Yes," she said when the wind died down, "I think Michael is _one_ of my soulmates. I recognize most of my worst qualities in him, and having them reflected back at me influenced me to change."

Hyde clenched the handle of his beer mug. His knuckles turned white, but he had to tolerate this, what she was saying. If he did, he could finally be free of her.

"Just like in you," her eyes were shining wetly, but that could've been from the wind, "I saw so much of what I wanted to be. The people who were supposed to love you, to protect you, hurt you instead. Yet you still gave love, still protected those who needed it—"

"Jackie, enough of this crap, okay?" A big gulp of beer moved down his throat painfully. She was unraveling his last three months, his reasons, his choices. "The past can't be rubbed out—ours, mine—like a stray freakin' pencil mark. Doesn't work that way. Alls you can do is leave the ruined paper in a locked file cabinet and hope like hell no one finds the key."

She stared at him a moment. "So..." her lips quirked up in amusement, "you've drunk enough to get philosophical and metaphorical."

He groaned under his breath. "What do you want from me?"

"Two things, both of which are dependent on a certain variable."

"Gettin' algebraic?" His lame attempt at humor echoed in the caverns of his brain. The alcohol really was pooling in his blood.

"Do you see yourself married to Samantha the rest of your life?" she said. "Maybe having kids with her?"

He finished his beer slowly, stalling for time, but he decided to go with the truth. "I don't know." His hand darted toward the second mug of beer, but her hand landed on his.

"Don't. Steven, just tell me ... is this the life you want for yourself?"

He removed himself from her touch. Kept his arms at his sides, behind the safety of the table. "My life's what it is."

"Ignore the facts of your life. Ignore your interpretations of those facts. _What do you want for yourself?_ "

A deep chill surged through his body. He was shaking, and he stiffened his muscles against it. No one but Jackie ever spoke to him this way. Sam could see past a few of his crusty layers, but Jackie saw down to his bedrock. That ability made her dangerous to him, always had.

"I don't know." His voice was as soft as it was deceitful. He did know what he wanted, but he couldn't tell her.

"Then you've given me my variable," she said and slapped the table with both hands. "So here's what I want from you. Tell me why you could marry a stranger and not me. She must be giving you something I can't. What is it? And before you shrug and say, 'I don't know,' you owe me this." She stood up and snatched the full mug of beer. "As an extra-added incentive, I'll dump this all over your head if you don't give me the truth."

Hyde clutched his knees beneath the table. He tried to distance himself fromhis body, from his emotions, but he couldn't shut himself down. What happened in Chicago—in Las Vegas—had disabled his best defense mechanism. "Why?" he said. "Why the fuck do you need to know that?"

"It's simple." She raised the mug of beer higher and held it above him. "The next time I try a relationship with someone, I can be better. He and I will have a stronger chance at a happy future than we did. Because the next man I fall in love with—well, he's gonna have to be a lot like you."

"No—!" He shot out of his chair, and his head smashed into the bottom of the mug. Jackie shrieked as beer spilled onto her cardigan. His skull pounded with the impact, but the mug had flown from her grip. It shattered on the beer garden's terracotta tiles, and he grabbed hold of her arm. The glass could cut her, lodge in the soles of her boots.

He pulled her from the table somewhat clumsily and said, "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I'm soaking wet and freezing!" She tried to rip free of his grasp, but he held onto her tightly. "I could get pneumonia and die!"

"Don't think that'll happen." He half-guided her, half dragged her to another empty table. Then he took off his fleece-lined vest and began to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Keepin' you from dying of pneumonia." His coordination was shit thanks to the booze and cold air, but his fumbling fingers eventually got the job done. He was about to give her his shirt, but then he thought better of it. "Take that off." He indicated her Schlitz-drenched cardigan. "You can't wear my shirt over that."

"This is ridiculous! I can just buy a County Fair sweatshirt at the souvenir stand."

"Hey, that's a good idea." He put his shirt back on but didn't button it, and he pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket. "Think twenty bucks'll do it?"

"Yes." She swiped his wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill. "Thank you."

She hurried away from him, and he watched her body shrink until it disappeared through the beer garden gates. Three months ago, her presence had done the same inside of him, shrunk until he could no longer feel it. But that was changing now, with every pump of his heart.

* * *

The sweatshirt Jackie bought was an unflattering hunter green with white lettering— _Kenosha Christmas County Fair, 1979_ —and a depiction of pine trees, but it was also thick. She braved one of the fair's Port-A-Potties to change in privacy. Held her breath and unzipped her wet cardigan. Then she dropped the cardigan into her plastic shopping bag, but the top of her jumpsuit was wet, too. The beer had soaked her thoroughly.

She unbuttoned the jumpsuit top, and shivers wracked her body. Her bra hadn't been spared either. It had to come off, and she tossed it into the plastic bag. She'd been stupid to threaten Steven with that mug of beer, but at least the sweatshirt was warm. It shielded her from the chilled air once she pulled it on and absorbed the dampness on her skin Outside the Port-A-Potty, though, the sweatshirt offered less protection. Wind whipped through fairgrounds, biting into her exposed skin and choking her breath. Wisconsin winters weren't known to be kind, and she prayed the moisture from her jumpsuit wouldn't seep into the sweatshirt. Dying of pneumonia wasn't an option, not after the glimpse she'd gotten of the true Steven Hyde.

He was probably drowning in Schlitz right now. She couldn't yank him from the beer garden, not without help. So she pushed through people and squeezed between spruces and pines to the fair's midway, where rides, carnival games, and a stage for entertainment were set up. Donna and Fez were busy at the Dart Toss. Stuffed animals dangled from the game booth's canopy. They looked cheap, but the value of the toys wasn't in their construction. It was in the winning and giving of them.

Jackie stood back as Fez and Donna threw their darts. Fez's dart bounced off a pink balloon, but Donna popped a yellow balloon with hers.

"And we have a winner!" the game runner shouted. He bent down behind the counter and reappeared with a white slip of paper. It had been inside the balloon and fallen out. "Large!" He pointed up to the biggest of the stuffed animals, to giant pandas, dogs, and ducks.

"Which do you want, Fez?" Donna said.

"Ooh, the panda!" Fez reached toward one. "Gimme!"

The game runner used a long metal hook to take down a panda. Then he passed the panda into Fez's waiting arms.

"Okay—you guys? I need your attention," Jackie said, and both Donna and Fez turned around.

"Jackie? Where have you been?" Fez said and hugged his newly-gotten panda. It was more than a third of his height.

Donna picked up a plastic bag full of what looked to be other prizes. "Yeah, and why are you wearing that sweatshirt? What happened?"

"Steven happened."

"Oh, my God." Fez tightened his hug and crushed the panda's neck. "You two did it?"

"If by 'did it,' you mean 'talked,' then yes. We did it." Jackie waved in the general direction of the beer garden. "And I need you two to quit playing games and stop his burgeoning alcoholism "

"He's a big boy, Jackie," Donna said. "He can handle his beer."

"Right." Jackie crossed her arms over her chest, both for body heat and to prevent herself from acting on impulse. Using Donna's hair as a leash probably wouldn't work. She responded best to well-formed arguments, so Jackie made one. "The last time he drank like this, he married Miss Inflatable Boobs and couldn't remember it. He might try to marry a Christmas tree today. We have to get him out of there."

Fez shook his head. "I refuse to get between a man and his tree." Then he nuzzled the panda's left ear. "And I've been waiting all year for this fair. Donna has more toys to win for me."

"But, Fez—"

"I said _toys!_ " He scurried off to the next carnival game, but Donna hesitated.

"Donna, _please,_ " Jackie said. "Steven's so caught up in himself that I don't think he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, well, I've been too caught up in _you_ lately. I need a break, okay? I promise I'll help you tomorrow … or after Christmas. I just—I need a break."

Donna followed Fez to the Ping-Pong-Ball-and-Fish-Bowl booth, and Jackie sighed. She'd used up her friends' good will the last three months. It had run dry.

But the Formans' surely hadn't. She searched the midway for them, starting with the carnival games but came up empty. They probably weren't on any rides because of Mr. Forman's heart condition, and Mrs. Forman preferred wine to beer, so they wouldn't be at the beer garden. The only other place to look was the stage.

People jammed the midway's entertainment area, but Jackie was small enough to slip through. Some God-awful Beach Boys cover band was playing. The Beach Boys' music was terrible to begin with, but the cover band sounded like a pod of beached whales. Jackie plugged her ears when she could and found Mrs. Forman bouncing to the music. Mr. Forman was next to her, tapping his foot.

"Mrs. Forman, Mr. Forman, Steven needs your help!" Jackie said.

Mrs. Forman turned toward her. "What? Honey, I can't hear you!"

"Steven needs your help!" Jackie shouted over the music.

"What's wrong with Steven?" Mr. Forman said.

"He's getting drunk!" Jackie said, and it must've been the wrong thing to say because both of them turned away from her. "This is serious! He could get alcohol poisoning. Mrs. Forman, you're a nurse. Didn't you take some oath not to let people hurt themselves?"

"Yes, but I'm not a nurse today," Mrs. Forman said. "Today, I'm enjoying my first Christmas County Fair without my baby boy—"

Jackie tugged on Mrs. Forman's jacket sleeve. "So you'll let your other boy ruin his liver?"

"Kitty," Mr. Forman said, "the loud one's not gonna leave us alone until we make sure Steven's okay."

"You go," Mrs. Forman said and swayed her hips to the music. "I'm having fun here."

Mr. Forman patted Jackie's shoulder. "Come on, Jackie."

"What's wrong with her?" she said once they were far enough from the stage. "She's usually very smothery with Steven."

"Oh, ever since he got married to that stri—Samantha, she's decided Steven's a man who can make his own decisions. She won't get involved with anything he does until he..."

"Until he—what?"

His lips lifted into a weak smile. "You know how mothers are."

"Actually, I don't."

"Let's just say she's not happy with his current situation," he said, and they passed out of the midway. A light snow had begun to fall. It sprinkled their clothes and the surrounding evergreens with white.

"So why don't you kick them out?" she said. "They make enough money to rent an apartment somewhere."

"Eric's gone. If Steven leaves, too, then none of you other dumbasses will come over. Then Kitty won't leave the bedroom, and I'll starve to death. No, thanks."

Another question formed in Jackie's throat, but it was silenced by the beer garden gates. Patrons and elfin-dressed waitresses crowded her view, but she and Mr. Forman discovered Steven at a back table. He was deep in debate with a man whose voice was slurry and unintelligible. In comparison, Steven sounded like Henry Higgins from _My Fair Lady_."Don't give a shit that it's got 'Achilles Last Stand,'" Steven said. "No way is _Presence_ a better album than _Houses of the Holy_."

His debate partner gestured sloppily and said something incomprehensible, but Steven seemed to understand and muttered, "Bullshit."

Mr. Forman nudged Jackie's arm. "See? Steven's fine. That guy, though..." he pointed at Steven's debate partner, "he'll be leaving here on a stretcher."

Mr. Forman started for the gates, but Jackie held him back. "Can't you do something?" she said. Steven had a half-full mug of beer on the table. Maybe he could handle a day's amount of drinking, but she didn't want to take that chance—or let it set precedent. "Do you want him to end up like his stepdad?"

"I'll kick his ass before that happens," Mr. Forman said, "but the hangover he'll have in the morning will probably do it first." Then he moved with enough force that told her she couldn't hold him back again.

Holding Steven back would be equally impossible. He was getting wasted today, no matter what she said or did, but she refused to bear witness it. Instead, she chased after Mr. Forman and said, "Don't you love him?"

"We don't talk about that here."

"Where, the fair?"

"No, our family." He paused in mid-stride and looked at her. "But if he goes too far, Kitty and I will deal with it."

"He already has."

"Jackie..." his usually gruff tone softened, and her stomach lurched, "let him go."

"But—"

"You come from money. You've got class. Find yourself some high-powered business man like your dad who steals money from us working stiffs … all right?" He patted her back awkwardly but affectionately. "Steven's edges are too rough for a gal like you. Even he would agree you shouldn't let him cut you up anymore."

He continued on his way, but his words had immobilized her. Snow was falling more heavily now. Flakes landed on her shoulders and arms, and each one had to weigh a hundred pounds. Steven must have asked Mr. Forman for help, to get Jackie off his back.

What was she clinging to? Moving on had to be the right choice, the healthy one, but their road had been split by a false assumption. Their relationship was unfinished, not over. But they would finish it, even if that meant they never spoke to each other again.

* * *

Hyde sank to his knees just as the sun touched the horizon. His stomach cramped, and he vomited sunset-orange onto the ground. He'd outdone himself today, tossing back beer after beer. But he'd had to get Jackie out of his skull, out of the rest of him.

"Oh, God—Steven!" Familiar hands landed on his back and rubbed it.

 _No, not her._ His eyes fell shut as his body continued to purge itself. But the poison he'd chugged down was less toxic than her. She had to fucking go. Her hands didn't belong on him, but the growing pool of vomit didn't seem to faze her. She stayed by his side, rubbing his back until he was finished.

He groaned pathetically and leaned into her much steadier body. His behavior was involuntary, driven by a need for physical comfort, and she didn't shove him away.

"I knew this would happen," she said. "Just keep breathing."

He granted her request but could do little else. He was spent. Someone would have to drag him to the 'Cruiser because he wouldn't make it on his own.

Several people passed by and asked if he and Jackie needed help. "Could I get some water?" she said, and soon she put a plastic cup to his lips. "Drink," she told him. "At least get the taste out of your mouth."

He sipped what he could when she angled the cup further back. He sloshed the water around his mouth but swallowed instead of spitting it out. He didn't want to dirty her more than he already had.

Backup arrived after a few more sips. Red and Donna hefted Hyde to his feet and hauled his ass to the parking lot, insulting him all the while. Then they stuffed him into the Vista Cruiser.

Jackie slid in afterward. She coaxed his head to her shoulder, and his mind seethed at what she was doing. Her kindness was an assault, but he was too weak to fight her.

Memories of a similar scene joined the attack, Jackie's fingers brushing through Kelso's hair—exactly as they were doing through Hyde's. Both Kelso and Hyde had betrayed her, yet she continued to love them. "It's fuckin' wrong," he said, but the words were a garbled moan. "You shouldn't be like this."

" _Shh._ " Her fingers threaded into his damp curls. "Burn me later when you're less sick."

 _Shut up,_ he tried to say, but his tongue was leaden. It wouldn't move, just like he couldn't escape her tenderness.

Red pulled the Vista Cruiser out of the parking lot, and Hyde let out another pathetic groan. The snowy drive from the fairgrounds was rough on his body. Expelling the booze had left him exhausted and sore, but Jackie's touch was soothing.

Unasked for.

He tried to scowl, to rebel if even in a small way. But his eyelids were too heavy to remain open, and with each drop of discomfort she removed, his heart bellowed, _Fuck you._


	3. Crossing a Million Rivers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 3  
 **CROSSING A MILLION RIVERS**

_December 23, 1979_

_Kenosha, Wisconsin_

_The Vista Cruiser_

**...**

Steven had sobered up enough to move his head off Jackie's shoulder. He was leaning against the passenger-side window and lightly snoring. He'd fallen asleep, but with all the chatter inside the Vista Cruiser, she couldn't fathom how. Fez was next to her in the backseat, speaking loudly and excitedly with Donna and Mrs. Forman. He'd rolled down his window halfway "to feel the wind in his hair," and the roar of air passing by made everyone talk even louder.

Mr. Forman should've told him to roll the window up. Had the snow still been falling, he probably would have. Then again, maybe he was trying to inflict as much pain on Steven as possible, to teach him about drinking too much.

Jackie glanced at Steven's sleeping, slack face. He didn't seem to be learning that lesson.

"Well, that was some Kenosha Christmas County Fair!" Mrs. Forman said from the front seat. "Thank you all for coming with us. It takes a village to fill up the Eric-sized hole in my heart."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Forman," Donna said. She was sitting in the front, too. "We more than understand. Or, at least, I do."

Mrs. Forman nodded. "He doesn't know what he's missing in Africa. They really went all out with the musical entertainment. I mean, the Beach Girls were fabulous. I've never seen the Beach Boys, but I can't imagine they're any better."

Jackie had been silent thus far, but she said, "Oh, the only thing worse than listening those Beached Whales was watching Steven throw up." She stared up at the Vista Cruiser's ceiling and inhaled a steadying breath. Her annoyance wasn't directed at Steven. It was meant for the family and friends who claimed to love him. They'd allowed him to get to this point, even after she'd pleaded for their help.

"I had a good reason to throw up," Steven said, and she clutched the edge of the backseat. He'd been asleep moments ago. "I was drunk."

She arched up an eyebrow. "'Was'?"

"It's a good thing you're not a drinker." His hand dropped to her thigh and patted it clumsily. "You'd have a hard time operating that heavy machinery—your mouth!"

She slapped his hand away but refused to respond otherwise. He'd thought her complaint was about him. Another wrong assumption.

An understandable one … as so many of them were. What would she have thought of finding Steven cuddled up with an ex-girlfriend? Or of discovering him in a motel room with that same ex-girlfriend, who was practically naked and talking about having sex?

Nothing good.

"Well, I had a great time," Fez said and rummaged through his plastic shopping bag. "I have an invisible dog on a leash, a live goldfish, and a giant stuffed panda. Of course, I got some stupid stuff, too."

Donna peered at him over the front seat. "Fez, you should be thanking me. I was amazing winning all that stuff. With my hair flowing and my muscles rippling, I was like a Roman goddess of knocking things over. Eric really doesn't know what he's missing."

Steven raised his arm. "All hail Ballus Knockoverus!" Then his arm fell back to his lap. "I'm still drunk."

"Yeah, you are," Jackie said. "Your jokes are really bad. Like _Eric_ -bad."

"Moron Maximus!" he mumbled, and she wasn't sure if he meant Eric or himself. Either way, the title fit both of them.

A plastic bag crinkled in the front seat, and Donna pulled out a plush, stuffed horse. "Mrs. Forman, you won a prize, too. I can't believe you let that guy guess your weight."

Mrs. Forman took the horse from her. "That weight-guesser never had a chance, not once I took off my shoes, my belt, my engagement ring, spit out my gum, and took all the Kleenex out of my pockets." More plastic crinkled as she stuffed the horse back into the bag. "Oh, Fez, honey, you never gave me back my ring."

"Oh, yeah." Fez plucked Mrs. Forman's ring from his pants pocket. He held it near the open window, presumably for a better view. "Wow, so sparkly—" the Vista Cruiser drove a rough bit of road and bounced, "and lost forever."

"Hah, hah. Very funny, Fez," Donna said. "Give Mrs. Forman her ring back."

"I—I—" Fez couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence. The ring had slipped from his fingers,

Jackie looked down at the car floor, but she didn't see anything shiny, just Fez's bag of prizes. "He can't give it back," she said. "I think it fell out the freezing, noisy window all of you let him keep open."

"It what?" Red shouted.

"Red, Red—pull over." Mrs. Forman hit Mr. Forman's arm. "Pull over!"

"I am, I am!" The Vista Cruiser slowed down then stopped on the side of Deepwood Drive. A wall of trees lined the road. "Everybody, out!" Mr. Forman said. "That includes you, drunky." He turned in the driver's seat and swiped at Steven's snoring face. His fingers didn't make contact, but the disturbance was enough to wake Steven up again.

Less than a minute later, in the cold and darkening woods, most everyone was searching for the ring. Fez knelt by a bush, Donna circled the trunks of trees, and the Formans scanned the snow-blanketed ground. But Jackie's focus was on Steven. He was swaying unsteadily by an outcrop. She approached him, intending to offer bodily support, but he flipped her off with both hands.

She backed away. If he was sober enough to be so rude, maybe he didn't need her help after all.

"It's gone!" Mrs. Forman cried. "My engagement ring is gone!" She turned to Fez, who was still kneeling by the bush. "You! You lost it! We let you into our country. We give you minimum-wage jobs. We—we teach you how to use a knife and a fork, and this is how you thank us?"

"Kitty, I hate to see you so upset when there's such an easy solution," Mr. Forman opened the Vista Cruiser's driver's-side door. "Let's just get you home. I'll make you a martini, and when you calm down, I'll make you a margarita."

Jackie rushed toward the car. "Wait, what about us?"

"Oh, you're gonna stay here and look for the ring," he said. "And if it snows again, just do like Fez's people would—hide in a cave."

He slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. Mrs. Forman was already inside, and the Vista Cruiser sped down the road.

Fez hugged Donna tightly, a feat considering his puffy jacket and her thick coat. "Why would Miss Kitty say such hurtful things to me?" he said. "I used to be her loveable son-in-law."

"Because," Donna shoved him away, "losing her actual son to Africa stole her sanity—well, the rest of it. Menopause took the lion's share."

"The ring must have rolled down the hill," he said, pointing through the trees to a sharp decline, "which means that it's probably been eaten by a squirrel. We need to find this squirrel, feed it laxatives, and wait for the show to begin."

"Yeah, we're not doing that," Donna said. "We've got little light left. We'll find the ring faster if we split up into teams."

Jackie hurried to Donna's side. "I'm teaming up with you. That way, if we run into a bear, I can just climb you."

"No, I was thinking I would go with Fez—and you would go with Hyde."

"No, no, no, no." Jackie waved her hands in objection. "I am _not_ teaming up with Steven." The image of his double flip-off was seared into her brain. "Anything I say to him can and will be held against me in the court of his drunken mind."

"Wow," Steven said, moving closer to her, "did you guys hear that? The wild call of the brown-haired pigmy bitch."

 _Bitch._ He'd never called her that before. Never, and coming from him, the word was as brutal as his fist. She stepped backward to put distance between them, and her boot caught on an exposed tree root. She crashed onto her back with too much force, and the momentum sent her tumbling down the hill.

"Jackie!" The shouts came from above, but her breath had sailed from her lungs. She couldn't breathe, let alone scream. Her eyes stared into the dark as she fell, and they closed as she landed hard on her stomach.

The next call of her name came from much closer—along with frantic fingers combing through her hair and touching her cheek, the one exposed to the chilled air. Her other cheek was mashed into the snow-covered ground. Her body had to be lying at an angle.

"Jackie, man, breathe already!"

She inhaled a shuddering puff of air. Her lungs weren't working properly yet, and the resulting dizziness nauseated her and fogged her thoughts.

"Don't move her, Hyde!" The order was Donna's. By the sound of her voice, she had to be nearby. "She might've broken something."

"You're so fuckin' annoying," Steven whispered in Jackie's ear. "Didn't realize it when we were goin' out. Sometimes ya gotta marry a stripper to get things into perspective."

Jackie gasped. His statement, alcohol-induced or not, was horrible, but her breathing finally began to regulate.

"There ya go. Knew you could do it." His fingers resumed a calmer caress of her hair, and it helped relax her body.

"You're such a jerk," she said softly, after her dizziness receded. She pushed herself up to a squat, but she hadn't fallen to the hill's bottom—a situation about to be rectified. Her body lurched to the side, and she braced herself for another tumble.

"Uh-uh." Steven hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body. Her back was pressed up against his chest, and her butt sat between his thighs. "Spread your legs," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Like mine, in a V. We're slidin' the rest of the way down."

"Oh." She did as he said, and they scooted more than slid down the hill. They stayed at the bottom, unmoving, and his arms warmed her better than the sweatshirt did. "Thank you."

"Whatever." He released her, and a rush of cold hit her stomach. He stood up and offered his hand. "Anything feel broken?"

"Besides my heart?" She accepted his support and pulled herself up. Every inch of her body felt bruised, but she'd never admit it. "'Spread your legs.' Really."

"Yeah, I woulda belched the V instead of sayin' it outright, but I never got that far."

She narrowed her eyes, unsure of what he meant. Then she got it. He'd told her to spread her legs in a V, and his talent for burping the alphabet was limited. His booze-drenched mind was still making jokes.

"Jackie—Jackie, are you okay?" Donna had reached them at the bottom of the hill. "Does your back hurt? Does _anything_ hurt?"

"Just my pride." Jackie brushed snow and dirt off herself and tried not to wince. She'd definitely be black and blue tomorrow. "I can't believe I almost married a guy who can belch the alphabet to U. You know, he never finishes anything."

Steven scowled, clearly having missed her point. "And I can't believe I almost proposed to a stuck-up princess who only cares about looks and money."

"Don't try to sweet talk me." She wanted to fluff her hair, but her muscles were too sore. "You have both of those things, and they're not enough."

"Don't twist what I'm sayin'."

"Who's twisting who? God, I wish I were as superficial as you think I am. That would be a dream."

"Okay, stop bickering," Donna said. "We're not gonna find this stupid ring anyway, so let's just get out of here." She took a step back up the hill. "Wait a second, where's Fez?" Her hands cupped her mouth as she shouted, "FEZ?"

"I'm right here, blindy!" Fez laughed, and Jackie spotted him in the growing darkness. "Get it? It's a play on 'blondie' since Donna's hair is blonde."

Donna smacked his arm. "Where the hell were you?"

"What?" he said. "My brown ass doesn't completely blend into the woods, blindy. Use your eyes."

She sighed. "Sorry."

"You should be sorry. First I'm insulted by Miss Kitty, and now one of my long-time friends can't distinguish me from a clod of dirt. What is this, Pick-on-the-Foreigner Day?"

"Fez, I'm sorry," she repeated. "It's been a rough couple of weeks."

"Yes. If Eric were here, he would've found me hiding behind that tree."

Donna's mouth dropped open, and her fists clenched, and Jackie exchanged an amused glance with Steven—before he turned away.

"Okay, I am _so_ done," Donna said. "Red'll just have to buy Mrs. Forman another engagement ring."

Fez grabbed onto her wrist. "No, we are finding this ring, or Mr. Red will stuff me in a cardboard box and ship me somewhere terrible, like Delaware."

"Eww!" Jackie's pulse tightened. Mr. Forman might just do what Fez feared. He could be vindictive, as their stranding out here proved. "Fez is right," she said. "The ring's got to be up that hill somewhere. Let's go."

She pushed her way between a pair of bushes, and her right ankle felt oddly hot. She must have twisted it in the fall, but she climbed back up the hill. "Um … is it just me," she said when everyone joined her, "or do the trees look different than before?"

"You must've somersaulted diagonally or something," Donna said. "I'm sure the Formans left us off right there." She took a few steps east. "Or maybe there." She took a few steps west and peered around at the surrounding woods. "Or maybe we're lost."

"Where'd the freakin' road go?" Steven said. "Alls I see are more trees."

Jackie looked back toward the hill they'd climbed. "Maybe there's another incline. We just went up the wrong one."

"Okay, I'll check," Fez said, and he started down the hill by himself. Jackie expected him to shout a report back but none came.

"Fez, is there another hill?" she called, and a snuffling snort answered. "What was that?"

"Fez, stop playing games!" Donna shouted, but the snorting grew louder.

Jackie edged away from the hill. "What _is_ that?"

"That was a wild Canadian boar." Steven put his hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. He'd crept up behind her in the dark. "They feed on likeable girls. You're safe."

She thrust her elbow into his stomach. He grunted and backed off. "Donna—" she said.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go find Fez," Donna led the charge down the hill, "so _I_ can ship him to Delaware."

Jackie and Steven followed, calling Fez's name. Donna was moving at a fast pace, but Jackie soon lost ground. Her ankle burned hotter with each step, and Donna and Steven were getting farther ahead of her than felt safe until—without an obvious reason—they stopped.

"What's wrong?" Jackie yelled, but neither of them seemed to hear her. The answer became apparent, however, as the _shush_ of running water filled the air, along with moisture. She limped toward Donna and Steven, who were standing on the bank of a wide stream. "Great. Now we have to cross a disgusting river?"

"Jackie, it's just a creek," Donna said. "Fez, that idiot, went off on his own."

"How do you know?" Jackie said, and Steven grasped her hand before she could protest. He deposited something into her palm. "What did you...?" Her thumb rubbed over the object's smooth, triangular surface. "A candy corn?"

"Moron must have a hole in his pocket," Steven said. "We found a trail of it. "Ends here, though."

She dropped the candy corn on the ground. "You don't think he drowned, do you?"

"I think he crossed the creek." Donna gestured to a fallen log a few feet down. "God, what would possess him to wander off?"

"Delaware," Jackie and Steven said together, and the moment stung her like a swarm of hornets. He probably had no awareness of their connection. He was too wasted, and his hostility toward her still held dominance.

"Well, whatever." Donna marched forward. Snow crunched beneath her shoes, and she scraped the soles of them on the log. Then she crossed the log with her arms stretched out at her sides. "Be careful," she said on the creek's opposite bank. "It's slippery."

Steven crossed the log even slower than Donna had. His balance wasn't the best, even while sober. Drunk, he was lucky to be standing, but he must've remembered that about himself. "Come on, Jackie," he said when he was on firm ground. "Hurry your ass up."

"I'm going as fast as I can!" She hobbled on her hurt ankle toward the log, and heat coursed up her shin. Donna's back was to the creek, as if she were eager to get going. "Don't even think about leaving me here!" Jackie shouted. She put the foot of her uninjured leg on the log then put down the other foot. "This isn't gonna work," she said after a step. The log's surface was too rough and uneven. It caused the pain in her ankle to flare.

"Jackie, we don't have time for you to be … well, _you,_ " Donna said. "Get your tiny little butt across already."

"Fine." Jackie turned around and sat down on the log. The top of her jumpsuit was already soaked with beer. She might as well ruin the jumpsuit completely by getting mud and grime on its bottom. She scooted backward and dangled her legs on either side of the log. The creek's water rushed over her boots and froze her feet. Fortunately, her boots were waterproof, but as her hands helped push her across the log, the bruises in her arms brought tears to her eyes.

With her back to Steven and Donna, she had enough privacy to cry. She indulged herself for a few seconds before dropping ungracefully onto the creek bank.

"You're a fuckin' liar," Steven said. His words were harsh, but his touch was gentle. He lifted her to her feet then eased an arm around her back. "That fall banged you up real good, huh?"

"What do you care?" She tried, unsuccessfully, to pry his fingers off her waist. "You've called me slutty and a bitch, and you flipped me off today. Why not shove me into that dysentery-filled water and get it over with?"

"You twist your ankle or knee?" he said. "Break a toe?"

"Ankle."

"Does the way I'm proppin' you up hurt?"

"How _you_ mean 'hurt'? No."

He said nothing and half-carried her after Donna, whose silhouette moved among the darkened trees and bushes. She'd gotten a head start on their continuing search.

"How could you call me a 'bitch'?" Jackie said, partly to distract herself. Traveling even deeper into these woods was an abysmally bad idea. She'd probably end up huddling with Steven and Donna for warmth until daylight. Then they'd find Fez's chewed-up carcass in the snow. "You once knocked someone out for calling me that," she said. "In any of the fights we've had, you never resorted to name-calling. It's not how you do things, not with me."

Only his breath answered, hard puffs from his effort to support her.

"Steven, that's not a proper response."

"Why the hell would you wanna fall in love with another guy like me?"

She stiffened as a bolt of awareness shot through her. "You're pushing me away on purpose, trying to protect me."

"You got half of that right."

"All of it," she said. "You're trying to protect me from yourself."

"No, I'm not!" He withdrew his arm from her back, "I ain't doin' shit for you, man!" and the volume of his voice made Donna pause up ahead. "Only been carryin' you 'cause you're slowin' us the fuck down."

He slid his arm back around her, but she shoved him away. She limped in the snow as fast as she could, but he matched her speed easily.

"You wanna end up with some asshole," he said, "that's your business. It's just not gonna be me."

"So you're protecting yourself."

"Now you're gettin' it."

They went onward in silence. He didn't offer his help again, and she wouldn't have taken it, but he also didn't leave her side. Donna's pace remained significantly faster than theirs, but they didn't lose sight of her.

Cold minutes turned into a freezing hour. The sun's ambient light was fading to nothing, and Jackie's sweatshirt had become near-useless. A light snow was falling over the woods, but the winter wind was blasting in squalls, promising heavier snow to come. Steven had to be feeling it, too, maybe worse than she was. His arms were crossed in front of his chest and his teeth were chattering.

Tears cut frosty trails down Jackie's cheeks. Not so long ago, Steven would have wrapped her up in her arms and rubbed her exposed skin with his own icy hands, attempting to love the cold out of her. But now his gaze was on the snow-covered ground, as if she weren't beside him.

"Do you want—" a burst of wind momentarily froze her voice, "my sweatshirt?"

Steven looked up at her. "What?"

"My sweatshirt. I bought it big, so it might fit you. My jumpsuit should be dry enough by now. I can pull on the top and button it up."

The approaching night shadowed his expression, but his lips seemed to part, and he took in a sharp breath. Maybe he was about to speak, but Donna dashed to them, saying, "Okay, I have been holding this in for, like, an hour, and I can't do it anymore."

"I know, I know," Jackie said. "You're sick of my drama. But he and I aren't fighting. We're just—"

"No, I drank too much cider at the fair, and now I have to _go._ " Donna darted for a nearby thicket of bushes. "You two, stand somewhere else!"

"It's d—dark," Steven said, shivering. "We won't s—see much."

"You'll see enough! Just do it!"

Jackie and Steven did as she asked. They trudged past a group of sizable rocks to a stand of evergreens. The trees would make for a good dressing screen, too, and Jackie said, "Wait here," before hobbling around them.

Steven raced in front of her and obstructed her path. "Don't," he said.

"When I was your girlfriend, I never warmed you up in the cold. Your wife's not here to do it, so consider this a payback of your loan."

"You w—warmed me up plenty," he said. "What game are you playin'?" He words were still slurry, but his thoughts were fighting for coherence, for sobriety. She recognized it in his tone, in his overall manner. "What's your freakin' s—scheme?"

"Honesty." She didn't bother turning from him. She began to pull off the sweatshirt, exposing her bare stomach to the winter air. A few snowflakes dropped onto her skin and melted into water. If she didn't do this fast, she'd be both cold and wet, but Steven grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt. "Hey!" she said, but he tugged it down and out of her hands.

Her palms burned at the friction, and the muscles in her forearms tensed enough to awaken her bruises. "You could've just shut your eyes if you'd rather not see my breasts."

"You're a headcase."

"Why? Because I'm undressing in front of you?" She started to take off the sweatshirt again. "You said it yourself—it's dark, so you won't see much. _And_ you married a stripper. You should be bored by a woman removing her top."

This time she managed to expose her chest to the unforgiving wind and Steven's equally unforgiving eyes. "Hey, quit doin' that!" he said and yanked her sweatshirt down again. The backs of his knuckles brushed against her nipples, but she didn't feel much of the contact. He probably hadn't either. His skin and her breasts had lost too much warmth.

"What's wrong with you?" she said, but giving him her sweatshirt was obviously out. His suffering should've been gratifying, but his refusal to accept her sacrifice hurt. "You don't want my help at all. When you were vomiting at the beer garden … _she_ was the one you wanted rubbing your back. And in the car, it was _her_ shoulder you wished you were leaning really have replaced me."

He shuddered, and his teeth made that _ratta-tatta-tatta_ sound before he spoke. "You've n—never been s—so fuckin' wrong. Jackie, m—man..." He enclosed her in bear hug so rough and desperate that she cried out. "Jackie," he said again, holding her more softly, "you weren't replaced. You were dispossessed."

Her body ached in Steven's arms, from the bruises without and within, but she kept quiet, fearing his withdrawal. A squall of wind buffeted them, the snow came down harder, and he tucked her head beneath his chin. The storm would eventually pass, but their choices had led them to a life without shelter. They couldn't find refuge in each other anymore, as they were doing now from the cold.

"Please tell me you guys finally made up," Donna said, disintegrating Steven's embrace, "because there's freakin' snow in my underwear, and a truce between you would be some consolation."

"Not even close." Steven broke off from both Jackie and Donna. His hands scrubbed through his hair, brushing off snowflakes as he disappeared behind the stand of evergreens.

"Donna, how could you even think that?" Jackie said. "He deprived me of what was rightfully mine and gave it to some—" Another squall choked her words and shook the trees. Spruce and pine needles fell to the ground, and Steven returned with his arms crossed once more in front of his chest.

"We were tryin' to keep warm while you took a piss," he said.

Donna laughed. "You dinks must be freezing. Glad I wore my thick, woolen winter coat." She pulled her hood over her head, as if to show off how much smarter she was than them. "I hope some wild man of the forest didn't kill Fez for his jacket."

" _I'd_ kill Fez for his jacket right now." Jackie balled her hands into fists and used her teeth to tug the sweatshirt's sleeves over her knuckles.

"A wild man of—of the forest wouldn't kill Fez for his jacket," Steven said. "He'd use Fez's _hide_ as a jacket. And, man, are we fr—freakin' screwed. These woods look familiar, like we just made a complete c—circle."

"No, we didn't—" Jackie shielded her eyes from the falling snow and studded the trees and rocks surrounding them. They did seem familiar, and the panic she'd been suppressing burst forth. "That is it! Fez is on his own. We have to get out of here."

"Jackie, relax. Fez is … kind of smart." Donna shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "He probably came to his senses and is walking back to where we started from."

Jackie pounded her chest once. " _We_ don't know where we started from! We just know we're lost. It's getting darker and colder by the minute, and unlike you," she pressed her sleeve-covered fist into Donna's side, "I have almost no insulating body fat. Steven's threat is gonna come true. I touched him, and now I'm gonna die."

"Maybe..." Steven produced a lighter from his jeans pocket, "or maybe I got a solution."

"You can't start a fire." Donna kicked at the snowy ground. "Everything's too wet."

"Don't need a campfire to warm up," he said. "We got some rocks big enough to sit on, and we got this." He pulled a joint from the pocket of his vest.

Jackie gazed into the early-evening sky. The storm had begun to lift, at least a little. "You just wanna get high 'cause you're finally sobering up."

"A circle after walking in a circle?" Donna said. "I'm so in."

Steven nodded. "If I have t—to freeze to death, 'least I can do it w—with a smile on my face."

"Why?" Jackie glared at him. "Because I'll probably die before you?"

He didn't answer. He went to the rocks and sat down on one. "Donna," he said, "keep your piehole sh—shut 'bout what you're about to witness, or Forman's gonna kn—know about Randy."

An uncharacteristic squeak escaped Donna's throat. Jackie had no idea what Steven was talking about, except for that an Andy Gibb lookalike named Randy worked at Grooves.

"Jackie." Steven gestured for her to join him.

She did so hesitantly, limping to his rock. "What?" she said.

"Park your ass here." He patted the spot rock between his legs. "It's gonna help us both, so don't go bein' a martyr."

She had no more doubts. He was definitely sobering up. His attitude toward her had become more consistent, but he could also be setting a trap. "I think I'll sit over there." She started for a rock several feet away.

"Last March," he said. "Pleasant Park … all right?"

Her breath, already icy in her throat, grew frigid. Her eyes and sinuses stung, but she wouldn't cry anymore, not today. The message he'd just given her was coded. Last March, they'd gone sledding together. She lost control of the sled on a solo run and slammed into a wire fence. She was mostly unhurt, except for a scrape across her cheek that—thank God—hadn't scarred.

But after the crash, he treated her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. He carried her to his car and made her hot cocoa back at the Formans'. Then he wrapped both of them in his blanket while they watched TV in the basement.

His intention for bringing that day up now wasn't clear, but she chose a benign interpretation, that he meant no harm toward her. She hobbled back to him and sat snugly between his thighs. Then lit the joint and offered her the first hit.

"Not a damn word, Donna," he said when Donna joined them on a nearby rock. "This sh—shit doesn't mean what it looks like." His left arm snaked around Jackie's waist. His hand flattened against her stomach, and she covered it with her sweatshirted fist. "Thought b—booze was supposed to keep you warm. St. Bernard's rescuin' p—people stuck in the m—mountains with s—small barrels of brandy collared to 'em. "

"That's a myth." Donna took the joint from Steven and inhaled deeply. "It's also a cartoon. Want me to explain the science of how alcohol makes you colder?"

"No!" Jackie and Steven said in one voice. Their bodies were shivering together, but as they shared the joint, their body heat combined, and their trembling abated.

"What happened with Randy," Jackie said eventually. The smoke had curled around her thoughts and pain, creating a euphoric boundary between her and reality.

"None of your business," Steven whispered by her ear. He was holding her like he used to, with both arms; and their cheeks had grown hot, pressed together as they were. "Let me tell you somethin' that is."

His attitude didn't frighten her. Nestled as she was against him, she felt safer than she had in months. "Okay, tell me … but I still wanna know what happened with Randy."

"It's none of your business," Donna said, echoing Steven. She had the joint to herself. It was little more than a roach now, and her gargantuan fingers' ability to grasp it was a mystery. "But it happened at Hyde's place of business. Biz-ness. Busy nest..."

Jackie giggled. Donna was such a goof when high, always playing with words. "So," Jackie leaned back into Steven's chest, "what _is_ my busy nest?"

"This doesn't mean anything," he said.

She sat up straighter. "Of course it doesn't."

"And 'cause it don't mean anything," he guided her to recline against him again, "I'll let you in on the funniest thing that ever happened in Vegas."

"Yeah, you married a blow-up doll."

"No, man, that's exactly it." His hoarse chuckle tickled her skin. "Thought she was you."

"You what?"

"I was fucking you on the pinball machine… fucking _her_ … but it was you, you know?"

"Not really." She sat up again, but his fingers were laced comfortably over her stomach, and his touch—his warmth—felt too good to lose right now.

"Tellin' ya, she was you. I married you."

"You're stoned," she said, not that she was far from it herself. "You always inhale more than the rest of us, you and your stupid big lungs."

"She looked different … was supposed to be you." His forehead dropped to her shoulder, something he used to do when he was upset but didn't want to talk about it. She nudged the silence out of him by shrugging. "Someone's singin'," he said, not what she'd expected to hear next, but she listened for other voices.

" _Oh, when the saints go marching in..._ "

"Dad?" Donna said. She stood up and looked beyond the bushes she'd peed in. "My Dad and Fez are skipping through the woods!"

"We're saved!" Jackie pushed herself off the rock, away from Steven, and hobbled to Donna's side. The pain in her ankle felt better than it did before, but Steven caught up to her and hooked a supportive arm around her back.

"Dad, Fez—over here!" Donna shouted.

A beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating stray snowflakes. The storm had lifted significantly, and the wind had died down. "Pumpkin!" Mr. Pinciotti called as the light grew brighter. Then he and Fez emerged from the bushes, and he passed a flashlight to Fez. "Boy, am I glad we found you!"

"Technically, we found you," she said and embraced him. "Coo-coo ca choo."

Jackie gestured to herself. "Fez, come here so I can rip off your skin and make a coat!" She tried to run at him when he didn't move, but Steven restrained her. "We've been dying of hypothermia because of you!"

"I was in a cave," Fez said.

"A cave?" Jackie, Steven, and Donna said together.

"I thought I saw the squirrel that ate Miss Kitty's ring. It was moving really slowly, so I tried to ambush it. But it heard me and ran away, so I chased it."

"You chased a freakin' squirrel?" Steven said.

"Yes, but then I got lost, and I heard a strange cawing sound—so I did what my people do when a predator is nearby. I hid in a cave." Fez smiled bashfully. "Mr. Forman knows me."

"I found him by following a trail of candy corn," Mr. Pinciotti said. "Good thing he has a hole in his pocket."

Donna hugged her father's arm. "Okay, but how are supposed get out of here? Now all of us are lost."

"No, we aren't." Mr. Pinciotti took back his flashlight and directed it past the bushes. "All we have to do is cross a creek, walk west a little bit, then go up the incline to the road."

"How do you know that?" Jackie said.

"I was in the National Guard. They trained us for this kind of thing. Red and Kitty are waiting for us in the Vista Cruiser."

Mr. Pinciotti led everyone toward the creek. He continued to talk, but Jackie paid him only slight attention. The aches in her body were returning, but Steven stayed by her side and helped her walk.

"Y'know, it's the darndest thing," Mr. Pinciotti said at the creek. He stood in front of the log they had to cross again, blocking it. Jackie wanted to get home already, to bury herself in her bed, but he kept talking. "Kitty found her ring in the car. Fez hadn't dropped it out the window after all."

He laughed and finally stepped onto the log. He crossed it effortlessly, without any lapses in balance. The National Guard really had trained him.

Donna went next, and Jackie imagined shoving Fez into the water. But she didn't know who to kill anymore—Fez for his idiocy or the Formans for stranding them out here. Then again, maybe she should kill Steven for his drunkenness. Had he been sober two hours ago, he would've suggested searching the Vista Cruiser first. That was how his brain usually worked.

Of course, had Jackie not been distracted, she could've made the suggestion herself. But she'd never commit suicide, so Fez would have to die … later.

"Go ahead, Steven," she said.

He offered his hand. "Come on. I'll help you across."

"The log's not wide enough for both of us."

"Good point." He bent down, and Jackie's heart beat faster. He meant to carry her piggy-back style, but he carried his stripper-wife like that now. Jackie had witnessed it in the Formans' driveway, with Samantha giggling and Steven grinning.

"No. I'll get myself across." She limped to the log and sat down on it, but Steven hoisted her back up "Stop!" she shouted, but she was already in his arms. Her own arms looped around his neck—what else could she do?—and he brought her to the other side of the creek.

He didn't stop there. He kept carrying her through the woods. "We'll get to the car faster this way," he said, but his boots tromped through the snow, allowing the others to get ahead of them.

"Put me down," she said.

"Nope."

"We're on our way home, Steven. We don't have to interact anymore. I can bear being hurt and cold for a few more minutes."

"We're not finished."

"I am." A fat snowflake landed on her nose and dissolved. She glanced up at his face. Tiny snowflakes were caught in his beard. Some had melted on his sunglasses, leaving wet spatters on the lenses.

"I owe you an answer," he said.

"I changed my mind. I don't want it."

"Too damn bad. Here's what Sam's got that you don't—"

"Put me down!" She kicked her legs, hoping to compel her release, but the pain in her ankle made her go still. "Steven, I demand to walk on my own," she said, and her arms loosened around his neck. Exhaustion was taking over. Her body had lost the will to fight or to hold on, and he strengthened his grip to compensate.

"She's got no meaning to me," he said.

Jackie shut her eyes and laid her head against his chest. No meaning, that was what Samantha had over her. So to have a successful relationship, she was she supposed to fall in love with a man who didn't value her? "That makes no sense!"

"Makes perfect sense. And deep down, you want someone else. Always did—"

"God, I am _not_ in love with Michael!"

"Not talkin' about him anymore."

"Then who—?" She opened her eyes. He was peering down at her, and he cocked an eyebrow above his sunglasses. "Who are you talking about?" she said.

"Someone who wouldn't do to you what I've done."


	4. The Turning Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 4  
 **THE TURNING TIDE**

_December 24, 1979_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Eric Forman's Basement_

**...**

Hyde was alone, slumped on the basement couch. His head ached with fog, and his stomach felt cavernously hollow. He'd spent the night before puking up his guts, figuratively not literally. Mrs. Forman's dinner stayed down fine, but his body had tried to purge the last three months, forcing emotions through him he couldn't stop. His throat had grown sore with unspoken thoughts, and his hands ripped up photographs he didn't care about. His eyes were glazed over with unshed tears; but in the end, he'd slipped into a fitful sleep, unsure of anything.

Sam wasn't present to witness his version of a breakdown. She hadn't come home from her stripper convention until this morning. So he awoke by himself, half-remembering what he'd told Jackie yesterday—and fully understanding where his responsibilities lay. Understanding, however, didn't mean peace.

To his eyes, the basement resembled his stomach, an emptied-out void. No Forman, no Kelso, no point. But he sat up as the back door clicked open. His fingers combed through his matted-down curls, his tongue moistened his dry mouth, but the effort wasn't necessary. His disheveled appearance could be dismissed as _Hangover Hyde,_ a nickname Donna had given him two months ago.

"Hi, Steven."

Jackie's voice reached him before he caught sight of her. She hobbled to the lawn chair, Fez's usual seat, with the help of a cane. The cane was carved from wood with a horse-head handle, something Mrs. Forman had lent her last night. She'd also checked over Jackie's bruised body at Hyde's insistence. Jackie showed no signs of a concussion, and her ankle was swollen but didn't seem broken. Mrs. Forman bandaged it up with instructions to schedule an X-ray if the pain didn't get better in a few days.

The bandage was concealed now by Jackie's calf-high boot. She sat down on the lawn chair with some difficulty and winced. Hyde's reaction time was slow. By the time he stood up to help, she was already sitting.

"What's up?" he said hoarsely, and his body dropped back onto the couch. He tried to make the move appear deliberate, but he was spent.

"You look awful." She settled her hands on the chair's armrests, winced again, then moved them to her knees. "Did you get any sleep last night."

"Yeah." About an hour or two, but she didn't need specifics. "How the hell did you get here?"

"Fez drove me. He's in the kitchen, begging Mrs. Forman to let him bake with her for tonight."

Hyde shut his eyes. Jackie's presence was thickening the fog in his head, deepening the hollowness of his stomach. "And you got down the stairs outside … how?"

"I was a cheerleader, _duh_. I'm nimble, even on one leg."

"Right." His eyes shut tighter. He'd experienced her talents firsthand, and despite his shades, she had to spot his discomfort. She always could. "So...?"

"Okay, I'll get on with it," she said, and his eyes opened. "Which parts of what you told me yesterday are bull and which are true?"

"I'd have to remember what I said to tell you that."

"Come on, you were sober—well, sober- _ish—_ for some of it."

"Not enough."

"Fine, I'll be specific." She glanced around the basement, as if to make sure they were alone. Then she spoke low. "Did you really think it was me you were marrying in Vegas?"

A shudder pushed through him, but he clenched every muscle possible to lock it down. His instinct was to burn the hell out of her, to get her limping from the basement and never look back. But something deeper than instinct had seized control during last night's purge. "Alls I really know about that night is what Sam told me," he said honestly. "The pictures she brought with her back up her story. So does our wedding certificate."

"And?"

"And what?"

Jackie gazed at the ceiling and huffed. "What did she tell you?"

"Why don't you ask her?" He jerked his thumb toward his room. "You two have become best buddies the last few weeks. She'd tell you."

"Okay, I will." She stood up but knocked the cane over in the process. His reflexes were faster this time, and he picked it up for her. "Thank you," she said and began to limp to his room.

He rushed out in front of her and knocked on the door. Sam's voice answered, muffled, and he said, "You decent?"

"Yeah!"

"Good. You're about to have a guest." He clutched the doorknob, but Jackie gripped his arm. "What?"

"One bit of warning," she said. "I'm gonna be here tonight for Christmas Eve. I wasn't going to, but Mrs. Forman pleaded with me. She's really missing Eric."

"The way a broke alcoholic misses booze," he said, but Mrs. Forman wasn't the only one missing Forman. His letters were good for a laugh, but they were also a shit-replacement for him being here. "That's cool—that you'll be here for her."

He opened the door and watched Jackie limp inside, but her warning had smashed apart his fatigue. Urgency was his new source of energy, and he snatched his coat off the coat rack then bolted outside.

* * *

"It really is hilarious," Samantha said, "considering how everything turned out." Glittery bras, nipple tassels, and thongs were piled up on Steven's cot, and she was separating them out in some kind of stripper-categories. "He was so drunk and high that he couldn't think straight. I had no idea who 'Jackie' was..." she giggled," but that's obviously changed."

Jackie's grip tightened on her cane. She needed all her willpower not to bludgeon the blonde bimbo to death. Samantha either didn't understand or care about the consequences of her ill-begotten marriage. Granted, she also didn't know about Jackie's turmoil. Jackie was keeping up several a facades. Only Donna and Fez had access to her real self, but even if Samantha could see past Jackie's defenses, what would she make of a soul dispossessed of its beloved?

"Somewhere between the first blowjob I gave him," Samantha went on, "and the first time we had sex, he started hallucinating I was you. He asked me to marry him, and..." She paused, clutching an armful of thongs to her oversized chest. "Well, I suppose he asked _you_ to marry him, but I said yes because no guy had ever made me come like that before—and you know how foxy he is."

Jackie's fingers sprang open, and the cane clattered to the floor. The new information had spread through her like poison. She sank onto the Formans' ugly green ottoman and let out a pained whimper.

"Oh!" Samantha released her thongs to the cot and picked up Jackie's cane. She leaned it against the wall beside the ottoman. "Are you okay?"

"Just a bit dizzy." Jackie cupped her forehead. Samantha really cared about Steven, and that fact whirled around her brain with all the others. "Didn't eat breakfast," she said. A lie, but one far better than the truth. "So were you wearing a brunette wig when you two met?"

Samantha giggled again. "No, nothing like that. My actual hair color is similar to yours. The length was similar, too, before I got this pixie-cut. Wait, let me show you." She opened the top drawer in Steven's dresser and moved a few things around. "That's strange. The pictures were in here on Saturday—before I left for the convention."

She stared at the drawer a moment. Then her expression brightened. "Wow! He finally put them in a wedding album!" She turned to Jackie. "That must be it, right? His Christmas present for me?"

"Must be," Jackie said. "So what happened after he sobered up? After the wedding, I mean."

" _Pfft!_ Please. He had no idea what had happened. I didn't tell him either, but he seemed happy enough to have me around. We spent a fun three weeks together before he ran off, but I followed him here. I..." Sadness overtook Samantha's usual aggravatingly cheerful disposition. She returned to organizing her stripper-wear.

"You...?" Jackie said, urging her on. Within that sadness lay a truth she desperately needed.

"It's embarrassing."

"You want to hear embarrassing? My first boyfriend cheated on me, and I went back to him. He cheated on me again, practically under my nose, and I went back to him again—and then he cheated on me some more. Now _that_ is embarrassing, not to mention pathetic."

"All right." Samantha sighed and plunked down on the cot. "I wasn't sure Hyde would want to stay married once I showed up. He wasn't sure, either, after I told him we were 'hitched,' as he calls it." She looked down at lap, at her knot of fingers. "He wouldn't touch me—you know, like he did when we were in Vegas. He slept out there," she gestured to the door, "on the couch.

"Then one afternoon, he stormed in here all angry. He said something like, 'You believe in soulmates?' I said no, and that's when he finally kissed me again."

"Oh, God..." Jackie covered her mouth, and tears blurred her vision. Steven had still loved her, even when Samantha arrived. But then Michael ruined it, like always, with his proposal and his big, gossipy smiled, all the way to her eyes. "Yeah, it's pretty romantic."

"Mm-hmm," Jackie said, but she was no longer present to the conversation. Michael had diverted her life so many times. His joy seemed predicated on her misery, yet she couldn't blame him for her failings. False assumptions, impulsive decisions … she and Steven just weren't right for each other.

"Jackie, do you think he loves me?"

Samantha's question drew Jackie from her thoughts. "Excuse me, what?"

"Do you think Hyde loves me? He's never said it, and you were his girlfriend for a while. Did he ever say it to you?"

"What he said or didn't say to me doesn't matter." Jackie reached for the cane and grasped it. "Once he married you, he changed, so I can't give you any Steven-advice." She leaned on the cane's handle for support and stood up with some effort. "Actually..." her spirit was as bruised as her body, but maybe someone could benefit from it, "I can. Do you love him?"

Samantha nodded. "I do."

"Then don't ever betray him," Jackie limped to the door and placed her palm against it, "because earning his trust is a lot harder than earning his love."

* * *

Jackie flopped onto Donna's hideous powder-blue couch. She threw her cane to the floor and—ignoring the myriad aches in her body—bent over Donna's lap and sobbed.

Donna's hand landed softly on the back of Jackie's head. "What did Hyde do now?"

"He told the truth!" Jackie said into Donna's legs. "And I've had a realization that's his fault—because I used to be dumb and ignorant like you before he got to me!"

Donna guided Jackie off her lap and held her at arm's length. "Listen, Jackie, I'm in a good mood, all right? I was helping Mrs. Forman arrange Christmas gifts around the tree, and I found one from Eric to me. He must have told someone in a letter what to get. The wrapping's impeccable, so I have to assume it's Fez—"

"Donna, focus!" Jackie gestured to herself. " _Me?_ "

"I'll listen, but you can't insult me anymore, got it?"

"Okay, okay." Tears had blinded Jackie's eyes. She blinked to clear them. "I need a date for tonight, someone who could potentially become a new boyfriend. But I don't want to end up with someone as stupid as Michael or someone who's as wrong for me as Steven."

Donna passed her a box of tissues from the side table. "I can barely understand you. Try to stop crying first."

Jackie plucked out a few tissues, dabbed her eyes with them, and blew her nose. "In my attempts to be selfless and move on, I made a list in my car."

"A list?"

"I wrote down everything I want in a man, but—but—" Fresh tears were flowing. "But all the qualities added up to STEVEN!"

"Oh, boy," Donna said but kept silent until Jackie got control of herself again. "Danny was never real, was he?" Jackie nodded, and Donna gave her a few more tissues. "Dating anyone else now would be useless. You have to get over Hyde first."

"I never will! Not as long as I have to see him. I need space, but I don't want space. I want _him._ Pre-stripper, pre-Chicago him."

"I want Eric, too, but he's in Africa," Donna said. "I can't change that, and you can't change the fact Hyde married someone else. Jackie..." her tone grew softer, "hasn't he done enough to you?"

Jackie's thumb pressed into her forearm, into one of her worse bruises. The pain was terrible, but she had to keep herself from sobbing. "He's capable of making up for it."

"No, he's not. Didn't you say he's wrong for you?"

"Oh, that's just something I'm trying to convince myself of." She jabbed her thumb into a different bruise on her arm. "You don't know how he was after he slept with that nurse, after we got back together. He—he practically worshiped me, Donna."

"You're deluding yourself."

"Not in public!" Jackie's skin was throbbing. Her method of preventing more tears had, in actuality, produced them, so she stopped torturing her body. "In private. It must've scared him, how much he loved me. He was admitting it more and more, showing it. Then Michael started a relationship with Angie, and I think everything went—" her fingers mimed an explosion, " _kaboom!_ in his head."

"'Kaboom'?" Donna frowned. "You're seeing what's not there. I understand why, but—"

"Oh, you're no help." Jackie grabbed the cane from the floor. Her body needed a rest, but she got off the couch. Explaining herself to closed ears was pointless. "I'll see you tonight," she said.

"Hold on, hold on!" Donna dashed around the couch and stepped in front of Jackie. Then she clasped Jackie's shoulder, and Jackie flinched. "Ooh, I'm sorry—sorry!" Donna let go of her. "You're really bruised everywhere, huh?"

Jackie answered with a glare.

"Sorry," Donna said again. "Listen, I saw how Hyde carried you last night and kept you warm. You have unfinished business, but it might _always_ be unfinished—"

"He thought she was me."

"He thought who was … huh?"

"Steven married Samantha thinking she was me," Jackie said. "He admitted it in the woods, while you were high as a blimp. She confirmed it just a little while ago."

"Oh, my God..."

"See?" A tangle of emotion caught in Jackie's throat. She swallowed it down. "If he'd married her just to spite me, to hurt me—repeating his mistake with the nurse—then he'd be hopeless. But he was delusional, and that's something I can forgive."

"Sounds like you already have."

"For _that_ part, maybe..." Her fingernails dug into the cane handle's etching. "Or maybe I can even forgive him for all of it, but his remorse isn't enough. He'd have to earn back my trust."

"Jackie, he's married to Samantha, not pining after you." Donna backed away from her. "Do I have to call the men with the white coats? Because you're talking a little crazy."

Jackie shrugged. "Doesn't everyone get a little crazy on Christmas?"

* * *

Nothing compared to Christmas Eve at the Formans'. After a feast of glazed ham and apricot preserves, the party had moved to the living room. The place was packed with Hyde's family, including Leo, and Christmas oldies played on the radio. Sugar cookies, mulled wine, and hot cider were all in abundance, saturating the air with the spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon. Mrs. Forman had wanted as big a celebration as possible, but even the most crowded, over-the-top party couldn't conceal Forman's absence. Hell, for Hyde, all the noise made him hyper-aware of it—and the current, unnatural state of his life.

Normally, he'd drink himself into incoherence, but tonight he was staying sober and goofing off. He and Fez had raided Forman's closet earlier. They'd found his stash of Santa hats and put them on. Being playful used to be easy, but now it required effort. Before yesterday, though, Hyde wouldn't have bothered. He would've isolated himself with Sam, made out, gotten wasted. Instead, he encouraged her to mingle with his family, with W.B. and Angie and Leo.

He lost sight of her quickly. She'd gotten lost somewhere by the den, within a swell of people, including Red's brother Marty. She was probably showing off some new stripper-moves, but that thought inspired no jealousy. He didn't care who she revealed her body to, as long as he was the only one she fucked.

"That is so dumb! I can't believe you fell for that!" Jackie's voice carried over the crowd, as it had all night. Or maybe his ears were simply seeking her out. Regardless, she was sitting on the couch, chatting up Donna. Hyde had wandered to the Christmas tree, not so far from them. His view of Jackie was decent, except when people passed in front of him.

She'd been sitting all night, thanks to Hyde's toxicity. His hands hadn't shoved her down that hill yesterday, but he was responsible all the same. His selfishness had bruised her body, just as his mother's fists used to do to him.

He turned away from the couch, from Jackie, and focused on the Christmas tree. It was almost twice as tall as he was, a dark green balsam fir. The Formans' heirloom ornaments hung on the branches along with an antique, porcelain ballerina. That one was Jackie's. Her favorite, from her father. It kept his spirit with her during the holidays while he rotted in jail. Mrs. Forman must have invited her to put it on the tree.

Hyde touched the ballerina gingerly. Last year, Jackie had bought him a small tree to put in his room. It was more of a bush than a tree, and she'd hung the ballerina ornament on it. Less than two weeks later, the ornament was gone. She'd taken it back after she broke up with him. Removed all her furniture from his room, stripped the comforter from his cot, dispossessing him of herself because he couldn't get his shit together.

"Oh, Steven," Mrs. Forman rubbed his arm warmly, "I'm glad I found you. Could you help me pass out the presents?"

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Sure."

"It's not going to be easy in this crowd, but it'll be fun!" She laughed her quirky, robust laugh. "It'll be like a scavenger hunt, trying to match presents to the people they belong to."

"Maybe we should just shout out names," he said.

She thrust her finger in the air, as if pointing at his suggestion. "You know, I never considered that. Eric's voice gets all squeaky when he shouts." Then she thrust her finger downward, pointing it beneath the tree, "The gifts are organized into piles. You shout, and I'll go hunting."

She gathered an armful of presents and left him. The remaining heaps were separated out neatly, colorful hills of wrapping paper and ribbons. He chose a gift from the closest one. It was for his sister, Angie.

He called her name, and she hurried over. "These are for you," he said, handing her five gifts. One was from him.

"Thanks, bro." She flashed him a smile before disappearing back into the crowd.

The next ten minutes went on like that. He called people to the tree and passed out their presents. Mrs. Forman held up her end, too, until only his own presents were left under the tree. But that couldn't be right. Too many remained. He knelt down and checked their tags. He'd gotten one from The Formans, one from freakin' _Forman_ himself—which was cool. A present each from Fez, Donna, and Angie. That made five.

Two more from W.B., and a small gift from Sam made eight. Leo's present made nine. Hyde wouldn't open that one in public, and the last gift made ten. It was impeccably-wrapped, and the sparkly tag said it was from Jackie.

From Jackie?

It was the size of a shirt box, and his heart pounded as he picked it up. The weight seemed right for a shirt, too. What the hell was she doing, getting him clothes? Trying to inform him of his lazy dressing? He'd go days now without changing shirts. His deodorant masked any stink fine, according to Sam, so no need to be creative and switch up what he wore.

He put Jackie's gift aside, revealing a tiny wrapped box. _Fuck._ That was his present to Jackie. It had gotten mixed in with his own pile somehow. He'd spent a good part of the day shopping for it. Ended up at a bead store in Milwaukee.

His fingers closed around the tiny box. Jackie was still on the couch, and he approached her hesitantly. She was busy working through her stack of presents.

"Hey," he said, and her eyes widened, as if she hadn't expected to see him. "Mrs. Forman missed this one." He placed his gift on the top of her stack. Then he left with enough speed to prevent her from asking questions.

His retreat ended at Mrs. Formans' organ. Sam was sitting there alone, surrounded by her three presents from him. They were all unwrapped, and he must have screwed up. Disappointment was engraved into her usually sunny expression.

"Sam?"

She glanced up at him with wet eyes. "Where are our wedding photos? I thought you put them into an album..."

His throat tightened, and he looked away from her. "There was an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to laugh. The sad humor of the situation was obvious, at least to him, but she wouldn't find it funny. "I do shit like this, Sam."

"Like what?" She stood up and grasped his hand. "Hyde, you're scaring me."

"Good," his gaze drifted to Jackie, "'cause maybe you'll wise up before I wreck more than your pictures."

Sam slid her palm over his cheek and forced him to look at her. "They're _our_ pictures. Why would you—?"

"That's what you wanna remember? Your husband high and drunk, believin' he was marrying his ex?" He pulled her hand off his face but didn't let go of her. "They're a lie, man. The pictures, the wedding. Our time didn't start 'til over a month after that."

"Are you saying you want to get married again? Sober this time?"

His every muscle went limp. His shoulders sagged, and her hand slipped from his fingers. Samantha's mind habitually amused and confounded him. It made its own connections, using some kind of bizarre internal logic. Then it projected those connections onto him.

"Guess my presents to you were a bust," he said. He pushed the gifts aside and sat on the organ bench.

"Hyde, are you gonna answer my question?"

"Nope." He slapped his knees. "Come 'ere."

She did, and he glided his arms around her waist. Unlike Jackie, Sam accepted what he could give her in any given moment. But she'd also pinpointed a desire he hadn't been aware of, something he refused to share.

He did want to get married again.

* * *

Jackie had opened all her presents but Steven's. The couch was blanketed in shiny wrapping paper and ribbons. Her presents lay at her feet. She'd received things she'd asked for, like a new set of hot rollers from Fez. But Steven's gift had to be a burn, like a fake engagement ring. The packaging was small enough for a ring box. She prayed to be wrong, but if her guess was right, she'd cane him.

Mr. Forman's brother Marty was sitting beside her, deep in conversation with Leo. She could safely open Steven's gift without an audience, and she did. Ripping off the wrapping paper revealed a white box. On the lid, embossed in silver, were the words _Cherish Beads._

Not a velvet jewelry box. A fake engagement ring might still be inside, but she doubted it.

He must've gotten her something at Samantha's urging. A man-stealing stripper with etiquette? Did Jackie's fake friendship actually felt real to her? She had to be lonely here. The Formans all but shunned her. Fez couldn't say more than hello before asking to see her breasts. Donna was sometimes polite, sometimes rude, but always distant. Samantha had only Steven.

Jackie leaned her head back and groaned. "I can't believe I'm feeling sorry for her."

"Feeling sorry for who?" Marty said.

"Steven's wife," she said without thinking.

Marty raised his eyebrows, as if he were interested in hearing the whole story. His cornflower-blue dashiki was bright and didn't fit the party. Everyone else was dressed in Christmas reds, greens, and even golds. But according to Steven, Marty himself didn't fit the Forman family. He expressed his feelings openly and spent his days examining his own behavior. Steven usually hid during Marty's visits, but perhaps he could be of some help.

"Samantha," she continued. "She has what should be mine … but not really. Some version of it. And she rubbed that fact in my face until I stopped reacting to her. Then we became friends ... but not really. I can relate to her, even though she has what I want but—"

"Not really?" Marty said.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'd say you're tapping into the Universal."

'Huh?"

"You're stepping outside of your own, limited feelings and recognizing your deeper kinship with Samantha on a spiritual level."

"So you're saying I'm a much better person than everyone else?"

"Not exactly—"

She patted his knee and smiled. "That's good enough for me." Then she turned away from him, signaling further their discussion was over. He didn't object, something Steven might say was a Christmas miracle.

She shook the _Cherish Beads_ box slightly. It had grown heavy in her hand, but not opening it wouldn't change its contents. She lifted off the top as the Formans' doorbell rang, and her pulse quickened to the point of discomfort. Inside the box was a pillow of tissue paper, and something silver peeked out from it. Not a ring, but a bracelet—and maybe a different kind of burn.

Her breaths grew shallow, and she held the bracelet up with trembling fingers. Pewter charms dangled in groups from the silver links. A sun, telephone, and hamburger. A frying pan, spatula, and pancake. More charms than those crowded the bracelet, but Steven's voice cut through her throbbing pulse: " _I'm_ your husband."

Jackie's fist closed over the bracelet. Samantha's voice shouted something next, and an unfamiliar male voice answered her.

The party's overall chatter quieted down. Either that, or the commotion was getting louder. Samantha must have invited someone unexpected, perhaps the owner of her strip club, and Jackie used the cane to stand. She hobbled toward the front door with little difficulty. People stepped aside, giving her both a clear path and view of the action. Steven was glowering at a gray-haired man, who was wearing a rumpled suit. Samantha stood between them, face flushed as pink as Fluffycakes's hooves.

They weren't alone. Donna had gotten behind Steven and was laughing. "Wow, Hyde!" she managed to say. "I bet when you married a stripper, this wasn't the kind of threesome you expected."

"What's going on?" Jackie said.

"Jackie," Donna said with a gleeful smirk, "meet Larry, Samantha's husband."

Jackie's heart quickened beyond nature, sounding like mini-explosions inside her skull, but Steven's stance made her step back. She recognized the tension in his body, the rage he was suppressing. Having that emotional control meant he was sober.

"So when you and I got married," Steven said to Samantha, "you were already married to another guy?"

"Sort of..." Samantha said.

"'Sort of'? There is no 'sort of' in marriage." His arms were crossed over his chest, but his control appeared to be slipping. His fingertips had dug into his skin, making it red. "When you say 'I do,' you mean 'I do want to marry you'—not 'I do already have another husband'!"

Samantha tugged at her sweater sleeves. "Look, Hyde, Larry was a regular at the club, and one day he asked me to marry him. He said he'd rent me an apartment and buy me a Camaro. What was I supposed to say?"

Steven's mouth went slack. He was speechless, and a disparate mix of emotion ran amok in Jackie's chest.

"You didn't even say 'I do' to me," Samantha said and pointed at Jackie. "You said it to _her._ But I got over that and fell in love with you anyway. I figured we'd just leave town, and I'd never see him again."

"Luckily for me, you kept using my credit card," Larry said, "which expires in a month. I got you a new one in the car, baby—"

Samantha scowled. "Shut up, Larry!"

"So..." Donna said to Steven, "if she was married to him before she married you, then you guys aren't even legally married. Which means this is freakin' hilarious! I can't wait to tell Eric!"

Steven's chest rose and fell visibly. Then his arms fell limply at his sides, and his breathing smoothed out.

Jackie squeezed the cane's handle until her knuckles grew white. She'd seen this transformation in him before, the first time he'd said, _I love you,_ to her. He was going to fight for Samantha, for his marriage. Donna had been right; Jackie was delusional.

"Hyde—" Samantha moved toward him. He didn't back off as she grabbed his hands, but he also didn't respond to her touch. "I don't love Larry. I love you."

He clenched his jaw, and a single, audible breath pushed through his nose. He'd shut his eyes. His sunglasses obscured them, but Jackie had no trouble reading his body language, and she steeled herself for the end. His next words would finish the unfinished.

"But I don't love you," he said softly.

Samantha's face paled. "Please, baby, you just need time—"

"Go. Doesn't have to be with him, but you gotta pack your stuff. I'll drive ya wherever you want."

"If anyone's going to drive her," Larry pounded once on his chest, "it'll be me!"

"Shut up, Larry!" Steven and Samantha said together.

"What's going on here?" Mr. Forman said. He and Mrs. Forman had marched past Jackie as a joint unit, their arms around each other's backs. "Who is this, Steven?"

"Samantha's husband," Donna answered for him. She was enjoying this moment too much, and Jackie hit the back of her calves with the cane. "Ow! Jackie, what the hell?"

Follow me … _now!_ "

"No way. This is too good to—"

Jackie hooked the cane's horse-head handle around one of Donna's ankles. The maneuver made Jackie's body ache all over, but she said, "Pinciotti, if you don't move it, I'll yank really hard, and you'll—"

"All right, all right, you little psycho!" Donna stepped free of the cane and followed Jackie to the den. They both sat down, Jackie on the armchair and Donna on the ottoman. "So what's your freakin' problem?"

"I'm the one who should be reveling in this," Jackie said, "not you."

"You don't look like you're reveling."

"Do you know how humiliating this is for him?"

"Good! He deserves it." Donna gestured to Jackie's hand. "What's that?"

Jackie held up the charm bracelet. "A present."

"From?"

"Steven."

" _This_ year?"

"Yes."

"Are you two..." Donna leaned toward Jackie and whispered, "having an affair?"

"No! We're barely speaking to each other."

"Man, Eric picked the wrong Christmas to miss."

Jackie banged her cane on the floor. "This isn't happening for your entertainment, you big goon! Futures are at stake here. Imagine if you were me—well, no. That's completely unrealistic. Okay, imagine if Eric came back from Africa married to a tribal princess. How would you feel?"

Donna's face went as pale as Samantha's had. "The dumbass might actually do something like that, living out some _Star Wars_ fantasy." Her voice slurred a bit, and her lack of decorum finally made sense.

"You're drunk!"

"Maybe just a little. That mulled wine is evilly delicious."

Jackie pressed her fist against her forehead. What should she do? How should she feel? Steven had sent her a coded message with the bracelet, or he was simply rubbing acid into her wounds. His relationship with Samantha wouldn't be over unless he actually let her go. They could be reconciling right now—

"He's driving the boobs away!" Fez hurtled inside the den but didn't stop in time. He collided into the ottoman and fell across Donna's lap. "Well, hello there, blondie."

"Fez, get up!" Donna shoved him off her lap, and he dropped to the floor with a thud. "Oh, God—" she cringed, "sorry! I didn't mean to push that hard."

"It's okay," he said into the carpet. Then he rolled onto his back. "I like it when you play rough."

Jackie slouched deeper into the armchair. "Great. So both of you dove head-first into the wine." She tapped Fez's leg with the cane. "Where's Steven? What's going on?"

"Hyde is in his room with Samantha. Her grandpa-husband went down to the basement, too. I thought there would be a disturbing threesome, so I sneaked into Hyde's room. But if Hyde would let a geezer touch his wife, then _I_ should get to touch her, yes? I'm one of his best friends, so I—"

Jackie whacked his leg harder with the cane. "Fez, concentrate! What did you see before Steven kicked you out?"

"How did you know he kicked me out?"

"You're here instead of in there."

"Oh..." a grin spread over his lips, "clever! You've become a thinker—"

"Fez!" both Jackie and Donna shouted.

"Hyde grabbed Samantha's suitcase and tossed her beautiful stripper-things into it. She was crying, but boobs that big shouldn't cry. So I yelled at Hyde to let the boobs stay, and that's when he kicked me out." He stretched an arm toward Donna, and she helped him up. "I have a car to break into … unless you take Samantha's place and start dressing like a whore."

"Not gonna happen," Donna said.

"Then I will see you in a few days," he said before leaving the den.

Donna chuckled, but Jackie found nothing funny about the situation. Legally, Steven's marriage to Samantha was void, but that didn't void their relationship. By staying with Samantha, he'd shot a bullet through Jackie's trust, causing extensive damage. It was bleeding out, and love couldn't make up for the loss.

* * *

Somewhere near Des Moines, Iowa, five hours into the drive, Hyde broke his silence. "You used me."

The El Camino was speeding down I-80, and the shadows of naked, gnarled trees flew past his windshield. According to the radio, Iowa was experiencing a warm spell, but the temperature outside had reached seventeen degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature inside his car was balmy in comparison. He'd cranked up the heat, and the radiator was rattling softly. He'd have to check the fan motor, do some maintenance … yet another thing vital to him run-down. His own damn fault.

"You used me, too," Sam said minutes later, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. She should've been sleeping, but he'd forgotten she was used to late nights. Four o'clock in the morning was the Spread Eagle's closing time, her nudie bar in Kenosha. He'd driven her there first so she could quit.

His thoughts were rattling like the radiator. A conversation hadn't been part of his plan. He'd spoken to what he'd believed were unhearing ears. "Maybe I did," he eventually said, "but I tried turning it into somethin' else."

"I wish you hadn't. Hyde..." a quaver crept into her voice, "I love you."

His body tensed, but he kept his eyes on the highway. "Doesn't change shit."

"Is there any part of you that loves me?" She sounded tiny, as if she'd been crushed into an atom. It made his chest ache—but not for her. "Because if any part of you does, then turn this car around. Take us home."

"I am takin' you home," he said, and her words dissolved into sobs. He clamped his mouth shut, but her cries were like arrows. They shot straight into his fundamental core. "Hey," his eyes flicked in her direction, "I'm not sayin' it wasn't fun, all right? And I'm not gonna forget some of the things we did—"

"You're making it worse!" she shouted, and he swerved the Camino almost off the damn highway.

"Shit—!" Adrenaline flooded his body. His heartbeat became frantic, and sweat slicked his palms, but he regained control of himself and the car.

They were lucky. The highway had no traffic this late at night. No cops seemed to be lurking about, either, but he didn't tell Sam any of that. She was in an unpredictable state. One wrong move from him, and she could turn the Camino into a fireball. Letting her cry was the safest bet.

Four hours later in Lincoln, Nebraska they checked into a bed and breakfast. Only one room was available, but Hyde would deal with it. Finding vacancies on Christmas day was a bitch, and he needed some sleep.

The room looked like a grandmother had decorated it—cream-painted walls, a fireplace with giant doilies on the mantle, and a rocking chair covered by a crocheted blanket. The air smelled faintly of patchouli, too, thanks to a potpourri basket on the dresser.

"How are we gonna do this?" Sam said, indicating the queen-sized bed.

Early-morning sun streamed in through the window. It gave everything a golden haze, something Hyde would've enjoyed with different company. He drew the window's thick curtains closed, and the room grew significantly darker. "You take one side," he said, "and I'll take the other."

"We're sleeping in the same bed?"

"Any other circumstance, I'd take the floor, but I gotta get you to Vegas in one piece. That won't happen if I'm driving with my eyes closed."

"It won't happen anyway," she said as he headed into the hallway. He needed a pre-sleep piss. "I'm already in pieces."

Her lament didn't keep him from the bathroom, but it did inspire several choice thoughts. He shared them when he returned to the bedroom. "Enough with this guilt-crap. You're married to another guy, and you never fuckin' told me. We were gonna implode sooner or later."

"My bladder's going to implode if I don't empty it," she said, not exactly the response he'd expected. Her sweater and bra were folded on the dresser, but she wasn't topless. She had on her undershirt.

He sat in the rocking chair after she left. He pulled off his boots, unbuckled his belt. The rest of his clothes would stay on, but he should've brought his sleeping bag. Clothes made for a lousy barrier, especially when only one person was wearing them. Upon her return, Sam shimmied out of her jeans. Her fingers slipped beneath her lacy panties, and he said, "Don't take 'em off."

"That's a first."

"Just don't."

"Now that _isn't_ a first, you giving me orders." She raised her undershirt before he could look away and flashed him her breasts. "Just a peek of what you're going to miss. Well, two peaks."

"Sam, come on. This isn't one of our games, all right? We're done."

She answered by getting into the bed, the _middle_ of the bed. He gestured for her to move over to one side. She did so with a sigh. Then he slid under the quilt and kept his back to her.

"Jackie warned me," she said, clearly baiting him, but he wouldn't talk. They had nothing left to say to each other. "She told me never to betray you ... but I don't think I did."

A familiar warmth pressed into his back—Sam's breasts. Her arm coiled around his waist, pushing up his shirt in the process. Her hot skin glided over his cool stomach, and his jeans tightened.

 _Damn it._ Her touch still elicited a physical response. It was Pavlovian, man. He'd spent two months fucking his anger out with her, anger that had recently turned inward.

"You're my first real love," she whispered, and her lips left a gentle, moist kiss on his neck. "We can get through this." She unbuttoned his jeans and dipped her hand into them. Then her fingers deftly maneuvered into the placket of his underwear.

She began to stroke him, and he stopped breathing. Time froze as all his painful, mismatched desires crashed into one another. Giving into her would be easy. One last screw for the road. A final reminder of what he'd become and tossed away.

Sam flung the quilt off his body and unzipped his fly for better access. She massaged him more forcefully, wringing a grunt from his throat. He was breathing again, feeling too much of what he didn't want to feel. Then her breasts slid over his hip. She was going to blow him, but he propelled himself out of the bed and dropped to the floor.

"Oh, God—Hyde!"

He rolled onto his back and zipped up his fly. The impact of the fall had stung his arms, shocked his hard-on back into softness.

"Hyde—baby, are you okay?" Sam peeked at him from over the side of the bed, and he stared into her gray eyes. She was deluded, man, but her delusions were partly his responsibility. Only one truth could break them both free.

"I'm still in love with Jackie," he said.

She blinked. "You're what?"

"Jackie, man. She's my first real … everything."

"Jackie?" Sam disappeared from the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the floor with a thump _,_ and he scrambled to stand. She was liable to kick his stones. " _Jackie?_ " she repeated, face-to-face with him. Her cheeks were flushed, and she drew back her arm. He dodged the on-coming slug to the jaw, but then she grasped the top of her own head. "I can't believe this. I can't believe it!"

He searched himself for an apology, but she'd always known their marriage was false. He was the one who'd been out of his mind. "Sam," he said, "I gotta get to sleep."

"Then we—" her fingers tugged at her hair, "we really are finished."

He shrugged, not with total indifference but a speck of sympathy. "We never really started."

* * *

_December 27, 1979_

_Sterling, Colorado_

_Holiday Hotel_

**…**

Hyde's room at the Holiday Hotel prohibited emotional complacency. On its spartan white walls, the word _betrayal_ might as well have been painted in blood—Jackie's. His first transgression against her had happened at a Holiday Hotel. Fitting that he was staying at the same chain now, at the end of his second transgression against her.

Twelve-and-a-half hours earlier, he'd dropped Sam off in Las Vegas. She was going to stay with a friend of hers, in a dingy apartment. He'd given her a thousand bucks as a parting gift, something to help her get back on the pole—or off it if she wanted. Other than that, she had to sort out her life herself, just like he had to sort out his.

He was sitting on the hotel room's bed. An unopened Christmas present lay across his lap, Jackie's gift to him. He'd brought it on this trip purposely, but the bed was doing its job, keeping him uncomfortable. The mattress was hard underneath his butt and, worse, scourging his mind. He'd slept with only two people besides Jackie in the last three years. Both were attempts at turning chaos back into order. Both had made the chaos worse.

His fingertips skimmed the present's wrapping paper. Sentimentality wasn't in his nature, but Jackie had touched the packaging. His contact with it was the closest he'd get to being with her again. Their relationship had drawn out his best qualities, but his worst always united to suppress them. Insecurity had turned into paranoia, and paranoia became a need to cause pain. The cycle was inevitable, but Jackie wouldn't be butchered by it. Not anymore.

He tore off the wrapping paper. Beneath it was a white shirt box, as he'd guessed at the party. He pulled off the lid, and inside was his favorite Led Zeppelin shirt. He'd given it to Jackie on her seventeenth birthday, as a symbol of his devotion.

"Fuck," he whispered, and the word rolled around his skull like a pebble. It grew bigger and heavier until it burst from his mouth as a boulder: "FUCK!" He slammed the lid onto the box, but that succeeded only in denting the lid. He tried to close the box properly, but this required him to tilt it. The shirt tumbled halfway out in his efforts, revealing a note.

His heart beat wildly, as if he were driving on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway—in the wrong direction. He snatched up the note and took in Jackie's feminine, precise handwriting.

_Steven,_

_Giving me your favorite shirt was the same as throwing it away. You should only give this to someone you intend to be with forever. You can thank me for not burning it—as I was well within my rights to do—by no longer burning me._

_You're welcome._  
— _Jackie_

Hyde put the note aside and picked up the shirt. He sniffed it, but all traces of Jackie's scent were gone, washed away by laundry detergent. The absence hardened his grip on the shirt. Grief was waving him in, and he sped toward it willingly. More than the last three months had to be purged. He owed Jackie that freedom, no matter the cost to himself.


	5. Breaking the Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 5  
 **BREAKING THE CODE**

_December 31, 1979_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Jackie and Fez's Apartment_

**...**

"Come on, Fez, we're gonna be late!" Jackie waved Eric's latest letter to her in the air. "He won't notice which side you part your hair on. He's not Michael!"

"Ai! You're right!" Fez dashed out of their bathroom and into the living room. She was standing by the front door, and he grabbed the car keys dangling from her pinky. "Do you need help getting down the stairs?"

"No, I'm good." She followed Fez out of the apartment and locked the door. The bruises on her body had turned an ugly yellow, but they barely hurt anymore. She no longer required a cane to walk, either.

The pain in her ankle was mostly gone, but she had a grade-1 sprain. Her doctor said it could take six weeks to heal fully. That meant not putting unnecessary pressure on it, like pushing down on a gas pedal. Fortunately, Fez seemed to enjoy driving her around. If he ever quit working at the hair salon, he'd make a good chauffeur.

Downstairs in the garage, she coughed at the stink of gas and motor oil. The smell itself didn't bother her as much as the inability to breathe. A window or five would've been nice, but the garage had none. The Lincoln was parked in its usual spot, and Fez opened the front passenger-side door for her. "May I buckle your seat belt?" he said after she got inside.

"No." She'd fallen for that trick once, resulting in his face sliding against her breasts. "Your cheek isn't copping a feel today."

"Damn it." He shut her door, and moments later, he was sitting in the driver seat. The car started up and pulled out of its parking spot smoothly. The garage door opened, letting in orange light. The sun was already setting, but they'd be in Milwaukee soon enough.

Jackie held Eric's letter out, and her bracelet jangled. Its charms swayed coldly against her wrist. She hadn't taken off Steven's present since Christmas Eve. It taunted her with questions, ones she couldn't find him to answer. Ever since he returned from Las Vegas, he'd been a ghost.

"You're reading his letter again?" Fez said as he drove onto the highway.

"Eric's idiocy amuses me," she said. It also distracted her from the mystery cuffed to her wrist. Her eyes flicked over Eric's messy scrawl. The letter contained his flight information and a plea for Jackie to pick him up at Milwaukee's airport in secrecy.

 _You're the one who'd care the least if I made a surprise visit home,_ his letter said, _so that's why I'm asking you. I know you have a big, gossipy mouth, but if you keep it shut about this, I'll try to talk sense into Hyde. Or one of your stuffed animals can have a permanent place in the basement. Your choice._

Jackie laughed. "He really is dumb, but at least he's uncomplicated."

"Yes, and a lucky sonuvabitch," Fez said. "He has a woman willing to wait for him, and I have nothing!"

"Aw, Fezzy, that's not true. You have the honor of living with me."

His expression brightened. "Yes, and I have the honor of seeing your boobs when you forget to lock the bathroom door."

"I never forget to lock the door. You keep picking it open with a paperclip!" Her skin prickled at the idea of Fez seeing her topless. She'd known becoming his roommate had risks, but being ogled daily by him was almost too much. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if that would remove her glorious breasts from his memory. "Next paycheck, I'm buying a different lock."

"Then I will ask Hyde to give me another lock-picking lesson."

"I'll buy an alarm system, too," she said, "to give me advanced warning," but his threat inspired little fear. He had looser lips than Pam Macy. He'd blurt to Steven why he wanted that lesson, and Steven wouldn't give it to him. Just like he hadn't let Jackie freeze to death in the Kenosha woods.

* * *

After less than an hour on the road, Jackie and Fez arrived at General Mitchell International Airport. They waited on the arrivals level, and Eric emerged from a crowd of luggage-carriers. He seemed taller, but maybe his posture had simply gotten better.

A smile glided across Jackie's face. She'd never admit it aloud, but she'd missed his presence. He was like Mr. Pinciotti's deer-hoof coat rack—aesthetically unpleasant but purposeful. Without the coat rack, coats and jackets would take over the Pinciottis' house. Without Eric, Jackie's loved ones acted abnormally, even appallingly.

"Jackie, what the hell?" Eric wasn't smiling. He was staring at Fez. "I told you to keep this a secret! Are Donna and my parents waiting in the car?"

"No, I sprained my ankle," she said, "and I couldn't drive here myself. I only told Fez about you this morning. Now shut up and be grateful!" She gestured to his bulky suitcase. "You and your _Star Wars_ dolls could be taking the bus home!"

"Wait, you sprained your ankle?" Eric said too cheerfully. "How? By tripping over your own vanity?"

She had no intention of answering him, but Fez patted Eric's backpack and said, "Hyde called her a bitch, and she crashed down a hill. It was ugly."

"Fez!" she shouted, but he was already running through the terminal, toward the parking lot.

"He—and then you—?" Laughter took over Eric's speech, and blood rushed to her neck, heating her skin. She made a bee-line for the terminal's exit, but he was still chuckling when they went outside. Even the winter wind didn't deter him. "What hill?" he said.

Cars were picking up passengers on the Baggage Claim Roadway. Jackie stuck her gloved hands into her coat pockets and walked to the curb. If Fez took too long getting here, she'd murder him.

"Was it Wedge Hill?" Eric said, following her. "It's pretty steep. Did you call his wife a bitch first? Oh—maybe you and she got into a violent snowball fight. That's it. You ripped her shirt, didn't you? Exposing her giant breasts to the bitter cold. Did you take pictures? Did Hyde?"

He was goading her, trying to get a rise. She leaned over the curb for a better view down the roadway. "Donna might've had a dalliance with an Andy Gibb lookalike."

"What?" He clasped her shoulders and made her face him. "Jackie, what are you talking about?"

"I don't really know," she said truthfully, "but Steven implied she and his employee Randy were..."

"No, no, no." He laughed again, this time angrily. "You're screwing with my head."

She shrugged. "Maybe."

He fell into silence, and she basked in the quiet. She'd won this round, though perhaps with too big a cost. "It's just—" she said, but her explanation came too late. Fez pulled up in the Lincoln, and he popped the trunk.

Jackie took shelter inside her car from the cold. She sat in the front passenger seat, buckled her seat belt, but the car couldn't shelter her from herself. With a single thoughtless sentence, she'd betrayed one of her best friends. Donna deserved better, but Jackie's retaliation had come instinctively.

The Lincoln bounced a little as Eric hefted his suitcase into the trunk. "Fez," he said once he was in the backseat, "what do you know about this Randy guy?"

"Oh, I would love to get my fingers in his hair," Fez said. He pressed on the gas pedal and drove down the roadway. "To shampoo, to shampoo. Don't think what I know you're thinking. He would leave me a nice tip."

"Would, uh … would Donna want to get her fingers in his hair?"

Eric sounded frightened, and Jackie's chest tightened. Steven's threat to Donna last week shot through her mind: _"Keep your piehole shut 'bout what you're about to witness, or Forman's gonna know about Randy."_

She unbuckled her seat belt and twisted her body around to look at Eric. "She wouldn't cheat on you. Maybe she kissed him or something, but that's all."

"That's all?" His eyes widened, and his face grew red. "That's all? I'm in Africa, thinking about her every day, missing her every second, and she's off Frenching some Randy-person?"

"You don't know that! And neither do I, okay? Steven just implied something when he was drunk—" Jackie sat forward and rebuckled her seat belt. The more she spoke, the worse she was making the situation. "Fez, help me!"

Fez was too busy driving to respond, but after the Lincoln merged onto I-94, he said, "I have never seen Donna doing it with Randy."

"Have you seen them do anything?" Eric said.

"They sometimes stand real close together at Grooves, talking and giggling. I keep waiting for them to kiss, but it never haaa—ai, I am sorry, Eric. I did not mean to say I want Donna to cheat on you, but I'm always horny, so I like watching people touch each other."

Eric sighed. "It's all right, buddy."

The tension eased out of Jackie's body. His fear seemed to have subsided, at least temporarily. He and Fez began chatting about Eric's flight home, but their voices blended into the noise of traffic. She removed her gloves for better access to her bracelet, and her fingertips ran over the pewter charms. A frying pan, a spatula, and a pancake. A pair of handcuffs, a grasshopper, and a key.

Each charm represented a significant moment in her relationship with Steven. They were points of change between them, memories he'd surprisingly held onto. But he'd always remembered dates well, better than she did. He probably knew the exact number of days they'd been together. How many they'd been apart … but why the bracelet? When had he bought it, before the woods or after?

The unknowns spun around her until she could no longer think. Her fists clenched, and pressure built up in her throat, releasing a shrill, "I will not be bested by jewelry!" Then she curled her body against the passenger-side door and shut her tearing eyes.

Neither Fez nor Eric questioned her outburst, not until Fez parked the Lincoln in the Formans' driveway. Eric jabbed her shoulder with two fingers and said, "Hyde gave you the bracelet, huh?"

She flinched. How did he know about the bracelet? But she unbuckled her seat belt and showed him the riddle on her wrist. "You mean this?"

"Ooh, shiny." Fez flicked the pancake charm, and she batted him away.

"That would be it," Eric said, "except..."

"Except what?" she said.

Eric didn't answer her. "Fez, don't open the trunk just yet. You're gonna drive me around Point Place while Jackie, here, goes on a mission. We've got..." he pushed back his coat sleeve and glanced at his watch, "a little more than six hours 'til midnight—"

" _Eric._ " She put as much threat in her voice as possible, but he grinned smugly.

"Jackie," he said, "use your evil powers to find out what Donna did with Randy. If you do that, I'll tell you all about that bracelet."

"N'uh-uh. Not without a freebie," she said. "Prove to me your information's worth having."

"He showed me the bracelet before I left for Africa."

She sucked in a sharp breath. Steven had gotten her the gift that early? "What about the charms?"

"Ah, ah, ah." Eric wagged a finger at her. "You get me Donna intel. Then I'll give you Hyde intel. That's how this works, got it? Fez'll pick you up on Wedge Hill in an hour. Try not to fall down it."

Fez rubbed his hands together. "I love being part of a secret mission."

Jackie glowered at him and Eric both, but Eric's smug grin didn't falter.

"Oh, fine!" She left the Lincoln and slammed her door. Being in Africa had made Eric even cockier, but it probably hadn't made him smarter. She'd try to get the truth from Donna. But even if Donna kept mum, Jackie would make up a believable story, and Eric would naively spill what he knew.

She couldn't lose.

* * *

Hyde taped the last of the streamers to the Formans' bookcase. The living room now looked suitably festive, and Mrs. Forman clapped. "Oh, thank you, Steven!" she said. "Donna should have stayed. I can't believe she missed our rendition of 'Auld Lang Syne'. Her rich baritone would've added so much to the song."

The laugh that followed was harsh, a cackle, but Hyde stayed silent. He scratched the back of his head and glanced at the carpet. The expectations she had of Donna were too damn heavy. Donna wasn't a surrogate for Forman, but Hyde said, "She'll get another chance tonight."

"You think she'll actually show up?"

The question startled him. "Yeah. Why not?"

"She just—she just doesn't seem happy whenever I see her."

His eyes flicked to the kitchen door. The longer he stayed here, the longer he remained visible. Jackie could walk in at any second, but Mrs. Forman had never abandoned him, and he wouldn't leave her in the lurch.

"She's just missing Forman is all." He started to pace the living room, dragging his knuckles along the staircase bricks. "Think she's gettin' sick of the holidays." He turned and trudged back toward the bookcase. "She'll be here, man. Don't worry."

"I'll try," Mrs. Forman said, "but I'd worry less if you'd shave your mustache. Honey, you look like a forty-year-old male prostitute."

He touched the hair above his lip. He'd taken a razor to his beard in Sterling, Colorado. He'd left the ugly mustache on his face purposely. "Can't do it. Sorry."

"I understand." She slipped her hand over his and squeezed. "You're still mourning your marriage to Samantha. But when you're over it, promise me you'll shave. You've got such a handsome face. It's a shame to hide it."

He returned the squeeze to her hand. "I'll see ya later."

"Steven—"

She didn't draw him back. He escaped into the kitchen and down the basement stairs. Cowards weren't handsome. Their faces were mutilated by fear, just like his was. Every time he looked in the mirror, his stomach soured, but he didn't run. He'd stare into his own eyes, searching for an unselfish solution.

The voice that rose in answer was never his. _"_ _Ignore the facts of your life,"_ Jackie had said a week ago. _"Ignore your interpretations of those facts, Steven. What do you want for yourself?"_

The impossible, man. He wanted the impossible.

* * *

Jackie found Donna writing yet another letter to Eric. Paper was scattered all over her desk, and Jackie shouted, "Donna!"

Donna jumped in her chair and went pale. "I've gotta start locking my door."

"I have a life-or-death question," Jackie continued, "and you have to answer it, or it'll kill relationships!"

Donna groaned. Her pen was clenched in her fist, and color slowly returned to her face. "Slow down and stop shouting."

"You and Randy: what happened?"

Donna's face paled again. "Why?"

"Because he asked me out for a date tonight." A lie, but Jackie had to convince her to open up somehow. "I don't want to encroach on your territory."

"He's not my territory."

"Oh…" Jackie slumped down on Donna's bed, "so he's a bad kisser?"

"No, he kisses fiiii—" Donna's last word died, and she stared blankly in Jackie's direction. Her gaze sharpened a second later. "You tricked me!"

"No! No, Donna, I'm serious. Randy asked me out, but I'm not sure I should accept. I mean, he's cute and all—but I don't know much about him. Would he be a good place to start? You know, after Steven?"

"Start? I thought you decided you weren't ready to date yet."

Jackie waved at her dismissively. "No, _you_ decided I wasn't. But is Randy—well, is he nice?"

"Beyond nice." A smile tugged at Donna's lips. "He's a really cool guy, but..."

"But what?"

"He's a lot like Eric."

Jackie's nose wrinkled, and she gagged in disgust. Just the thought of dating an Eric-y guy nauseated her.

"He's really funny and sarcastic," Donna went on. "And sweet. Being around him made me miss Eric less—at first. We were just friends..."

"And then you kissed him?"

"We kissed each other at the same time." Donna turned back toward her desk, and she began doodling on the closest piece of paper. "But all I could think about was Eric. I began to miss him, like, even worse." She drew a crooked heart, and Jackie inwardly scoffed. Donna clearly had little practice in romantic doodling

"I didn't want to lead Randy on," Donna drew a few more crooked hearts and scratched an X through one, "so I told him we had to cool off. Eric waited a year for me while I figured myself out, after my mom left..." she peered up at Jackie, "I owe him the same while he's in Africa."

"That's great!" Jackie pushed herself off Donna's bed. "Thank you, Donna!"

"So you're gonna go out with Randy?"

"God, no. I would never touch your Eric-y castoff. I'm thanking you for the warning." Jackie headed for the door. "I'll see you at the party, right?"

Donna seemed puzzled, but whatever questions she had went unspoken. "Right."

* * *

Outside, the air chilled Jackie's throat and chest. Breathing it felt like inhaling ice, and she rushed to her rendezvous point. Point Place could be lonely in the dead of winter. Lampposts highlighted the town's emptiness, each a bright spot surrounded by the dark.

Those static glows lit the street locally known as Wedge Hill. Piles of fresh snow covered the ground, and their pristine whiteness showed off her Lincoln's flaws. The aging car needed a fresh coat of paint and a wax, but she couldn't afford such luxuries anymore.

Eric opened the back passenger-side door for her. She slid in beside him and shut the door. "Well?" he said.

She soaked in the car's warmth before answering. "I hate winter."

"Jackie—"

"You're right. I don't completely hate it. I get to wear a lot of cute outfits."

Fez was facing forward in the driver's seat. His hands gripped the wheel, as if he were ready to whisk them off somewhere, but then he said, "Stop playing coy, woman! Did you get the goods or didn't you?"

Eric smacked the back of Fez's head. "It wasn't a drug raid."

"I am your getaway driver!" Fez shouted. "Do not hit your getaway driver! Ai ... Kelso never hit his getaway driver."

"I'm not Kelso—and thank God for that," Eric said then looked a Jackie expectantly. " _Did_ you get the goods?"

"I did." She shared with him what Donna had told her, and he blew out a heavy breath. "See, Eric? It's not so bad."

"Just one kiss." He closed his eyes and patted a rhythm on his knees. "Just one kiss … that made Donna miss me."

"Yes..." Fez said and continued to face the windshield, "now you and Donna are even."

"How are they even?" Jackie said. She should've kept her mouth shut, but curiosity and adrenaline were pumping through her. "Dating Casey doesn't count. She and Eric were broken up then."

Fez unbuckled his seat belt and finally looked at her. "I'm talking about the time he tongue-kissed his sister's slutty friend that Thanksgiving."

"Oh, yeah!" She remembered. Donna had raged about it to her years ago. "Don't forget when he kissed Shelly at The Hub—"

"Hey!" Eric's eyes opened, and he sat forward. "Shelly kissed _me,_ and can we stop talking about this?"

Jackie presented her wrist, the one wearing the charm bracelet. "Sure. Pay up."

"Hyde's gonna kill me..." Eric tried flicking one of the charms, and she withdrew her arm, "but I survived a stampede of elephants last month, so here goes nothing. He bought you that bracelet—without the charms—after you graduated."

"After I graduated?" Her thumbnail scratched against the bracelet's links. "It's a graduation present?"

"More like an I'm-sorry-for-skipping-out-on-your-graduation-party present. He was all broody and pissed at himself, so I told him to buy you something shiny."

"It all makes sense!" Fez said. "He was very cranky that week."

"It doesn't make sense to me," she said, but neither did his refusal to go to her graduation party. It still stung, even among the shards of glass he'd subsequently thrown at her.

"Listen, Jackie..." Eric swallowed and wiped his palms on his jeans. His rightful, normal nervousness had apparently returned. "He told me something shiny wouldn't be enough. That he'd given you a bad message by not showing at your party. He wanted you to know how important you are to him. I suggested an engagement ring—"

She whacked his arm. "You didn't!" She hit him twice more. "You idiot!"

"Hyde didn't take me seriously—cut it out!" He backed away from her. "But he also asked for another suggestion, and I told him to ask my mom. Red got her a charm bracelet for their tenth anniversary, so … draw your own conclusions."

"I can't!" She held up her wrist and shook it. The charms clattered against one another. "He gave this to me a week ago, before he learned his marriage to Samantha wasn't legal."

"Yeah, Fez filled me in. Wish I could've been there when the boobs hit the fan."

Fez laughed at Eric's joke, but Jackie scowled. "This is serious! Why did Steven give me the bracelet this Christmas?"

Eric shrugged. "I got nothing about that, but last summer, I caught him making a list in the basement. I read a few things off it—."

"Ooh, what?" Fez said.

Jackie nodded. "Yeah, what?"

Eric's attention drifted to the Lincoln's window. "I've become gossiping snitch. I'm as good as dead..."

"Eric," she grasped his shoulder, "even though I'm unlawfully gorgeous and could have any man, Steven is my—" Her throat tightened. Her ego was bristling beneath her thoughts, but it had to be sacrificed. "Steven is my Donna."

"He's your Donna?" Eric sounded sympathetic. He'd become malleable, but she still had to be careful.

"Remember how you felt that year she went out with Casey? How badly she burned you? Well, Steven's done the same to me the last three months. But he's also sent a bunch of mixed signals, and now he's avoiding me. So if you have any information that can help, _please_ tell me."

"Yes, tell her, you sonuvabitch!" Fez was sobbing, and Eric swallowed again. "We have all lost so much. Help her get her Donna back!"

"All—all right," Eric said. "At the top of Hyde's list, he'd written, 'Important Shit Between Us'. Below that, he wrote, 'scars'. An arrow pointed from there to the words 'turkey,' 'Band-Aid,' and … uh, um … 'playing cards'. Something like that."

Jackie found the corresponding charms on the bracelet. A pewter turkey, a Band-Aid, and a deck of cards dangled together. During their first Thanksgiving as a couple, she and Steven had shared childhood secrets with each other. They included how her stupid cousin had gotten her grounded—an incident involving playing cards—and the scar Steven's mother left on his arm.

"He also wrote 'Girl Scouts,'" Eric said, "with an arrow pointing to 'frying pan,' 'spatula,' and 'pancake'. That's all I could see before Hyde flattened the notepad against his stomach and hid in his room … and I'm gonna die."

"No, you won't," she said, but the battle between hope and despair had made her lightheaded. She reminded herself to breathe.

Fez dabbed his wet eyes with tissues from the glove box. He'd stopped crying. "You can't die, Eric, because I have to blackmail you." He stuffed the tissues into his shirt pocket and laced his fingers over his knee. "Give me three bags of candy each day you're here, or I will tell Hyde _everything._ "

He was trying to come off as sinister, but he sounded ridiculous. "No one's gonna blackmail anyone," Jackie said, and his facade crumbled. "You're gonna be happy your friend is back, drive us to the Formans', and forget this conversation ever happened. Otherwise, you'll be singing soprano from now on, got it?"

"Got it." Fez turned back to the steering wheel and put on his seat belt.

He drove away from Wedge Hill. Yellow light flickered through the windows, and Jackie gazed at it. The lampposts. They were passing by quickly, but revelers appeared in the glow. They hooted in celebration of an ending—1979—and the approaching new beginning. It was something Jackie longed to celebrate, too, a new beginning.


	6. Counting Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 6  
 **COUNTING DOWN**

_December 31, 1979_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_The Formans' House_

**...**

Hyde's boots clomped down the Formans' stone staircase, and his breath escaped him in white puffs. He'd relieved Randy at Grooves a half-hour ago and closed-up shop himself. Work was a good excuse to leave the Formans', to become invisible for a while. But invisibility was no guarantee of safety. The chilled winter air had cracked his lips, just as his resolve was cracking.

Three hours till midnight. He could still ring in the new year at Charlie's Bar, at the bottom of a beer mug. The grieving process was taking too damn long. He wanted a shortcut, but he'd evaded grief his whole life. Shrugged off the losses. They'd caught up with him, demanding interest and promising to put him six feet underground if he didn't pay up.

Wind shook the Formans' trees as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His key slid into the basement's back door, but the door wasn't locked. Donna and Fez must have entered the house this way. Either them or Jackie. He considered retreat, but he shoved door the open instead.

A smile crept over his face at the sight inside. Fez, Kelso, and Forman were sitting around the spool table, chatting. Hyde slipped off his coat and hooked it on the coat rack. Then, for a silent moment, he allowed himself a delusion. In it, the last three months didn't exist. He hadn't fucked up his life or bulldozed Jackie's trust.

"Hyde!" Forman and Kelso said together. They'd spotted him and were waving him over.

He hesitated, but introductions had to be made. They needed to meet what he'd become. Be driven away. But Forman and Kelso were standing now, waiting for him, and the moment was too valuable to destroy.

He strode to the couch, unable to hide his joy. His arms wrapped around each of his friends, hugging them. "Man," he said afterward, "what're you two freaks doin' here?"

"First thing's first," Forman said and pointed to Hyde's upper lip. "What the hell is that?"

Kelso scowled. "It's a mustache! Hyde, how could you grow that? You and Fez ragged on me for having one." He rubbed his own, hairless upper lip. "You said I looked like a porn star!"

"Yes, Hyde," Fez said from the lawn chair, "explain yourself."

"I did you one better, man." Hyde punched Kelso lightly on the arm, just to make sure he was really here. "According to Mrs. Forman, I look like a forty-year-old male prostitute."

Forman and Fez glanced at each other then exploded into laughter. Kelso, though, was still scowling. "You shaved my cop 'stache into a Hitler 'stache! That's how much you hated it." He shook his head. "Man, your stripper-wife left you for Grandpa, and now you're havin' a midlife crisis!"

"You keep thinkin' that," Hyde said. Maybe calling Kelso up during the drive back from Vegas hadn't been the brightest idea. "Why're you here instead of Chicago?"

Kelso's expression finally smoothed out. "Betsy and Brooke got me for Christmas. I had to spend New Year's with my best buddies."

"Oh, Kelso!" Fez sprang up from his chair and thrust himself into Kelso's arms. "I missed you so much!"

"Fez, we talked about this," Kelso said through gritted teeth. "Ixnay on the ublic-pay isplays-day of affection-ay."

Fez let him go and sat back down. "Right, right … but be warned: I will find you in a dark hallway and hug you tonight."

Visions of finding Jackie in a lit hallway rose in Hyde's mind. He stamped them out. "Forman," he said, "how'd you get outta Africa? You hitch a ride on a parrot?"

"No, the bird I flew on was made of metal. It's called an airplane. You might've heard of it in first grade." Forman pointed at Hyde's upper lip again. "Really, Hyde, what's with the 'stache?"

Hyde gestured to Forman's crotch. "What's with you not havin' reunion sex with Donna? Shouldn't you be over there, plugging away?"

"It probably happened already," Kelso said. "If I'd been celibate for three months, my first time having sex again wouldn't take too long."

Forman slumped to the couch. "Donna's mad at me."

"Because reunion sex took you two seconds?" Fez said. "A-burn!"

"No, she's pissed I didn't tell her I was coming home. She's also pissed 'cause I told her I forgive her."

"Forgive her?" Kelso sat down next to Forman. "Forgive her for what?"

"Her kiss with that Randy guy."

Hyde's shoulders stiffened. "Who told you she kissed Randy?"

"Who's Randy?" Kelso said.

"The beautiful blond who works at Grooves," Fez said.

Kelso glanced at him. "Randy's a chick?"

"No." Fez became suddenly interested in his hands. He stared at them quietly, examined his cuticles.

"Jackie told me," Forman said.

Hyde's back tensed, joining his shoulders, and his skull began to throb. He tilted his head to the side, attempting to stretch out his muscles. "So Donna told her?"

"Yeah," Forman slapped a nervous rhythm on his knees, "after I sent Jackie to find out."

" _You_ sent Jackie...?" Hyde tilted his head to the other side. His shoulder muscles were loosening but not by much.

"It was a secret mission," Fez said. "Jackie and I picked up Eric from the airport. Jackie yelled about the bracelet you got her. Eric tempted her with information—"

Hyde quit trying to stretch. His body had tensed to the point of no return. "Forman, you just can't keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"Hey, he is home from a far-away land!" Fez said. "Don't curse at him."

"Yeah..." Kelso was chuckling in a way Hyde didn't like. "So why'd you get Jackie a bracelet? Have you two started doin' it again?"

Hyde ran his hand over his face. _Shit._ Fez must've filled Kelso in on some details over the phone.

"Jackie's kinda freaky, huh?" Kelso said. His chuckling had stopped, but Hyde still didn't like his tone. "I break her heart, and she runs to you. You break her heart, and she runs to me. I break her heart again, and she runs to you. Then _you_ break her heart again, but she fucks you?" Kelso sighed. "Man, monogamy sucks. I could get in on some of that crazy tonight—but Brooke probably wouldn't like it."

The tension in Hyde's body had coiled in on itself, twisting and warping until he could no longer contain it, and his fist rammed the pressure into Kelso's shoulder. "Jackie didn't fuck me, but I'll fuck you up if you keep talkin' like that about her."

"Ow!" Kelso cupped his shoulder protectively. "You made it all throbby!"

"Marking your territory, I see," Forman said. "So you're the only one who can insult her?"

Hyde's jaw clenched. How did everyone know his damn business?

"Maybe if you call her a 'cunt,'" Forman continued, "she'll break her neck instead of just spraining her ankle."

Fez shut his eyes. "Ai..."

Kelso laughed but only for a few seconds. "I don't get it. How would calling Jackie names make her break her neck?"

"Ask Hyde," Forman said, but he'd made a dangerous move, giving Hyde's anger a new target. Being in Africa must have hardened Formans' balls—or wrecked his common sense.

"Hyde?" Kelso said.

"Some other time, man." Hyde dismissed himself with a curt wave. Leaving would be best for everyone, but Forman got inside Hyde's room before Hyde did. "How the hell did ya do that?" His eyes fixed on Forman's huffing face. "Fuckin' Speedy Gonzales."

"When you have a million different things out to kill you," Forman said, "being fast becomes a necessity." He sat down on Hyde's cot and leaned back against the bureau. "Come on, Hyde … you've got a narrow window of opportunity here."

Hyde shut the door and strolled casually to the Formans' old armchair. Behind it was a bottle of bourbon, emergency booze guaranteed to do his sobriety in. He hadn't touched alcohol for over a week. But he bent down, and his fingers grazed the bottle's cold glass.

Forman piped up again. "Jackie's already at the party."

"Yeah?" Hyde didn't move his fingers off the bottle. "So's Donna, I'd bet."

"She is, and when I'm done trying to get through to you, I'll try to get through to her."

 _Damn it,_ Forman had an agenda. Only one way existed to get this crap over with. Hyde abandoned the bourbon and sat in the armchair. "There's nothin' left between me and Jackie."

"Then why'd you give her the bracelet?"

"I don't know."

"Bull."

Hyde's lips twitched. His mustache had become heavy, like each hair weighed half a pound. It dragged his mouth into a frown. "Tried to undo some damage."

"The bracelet's not enough," Forman said. "I've been there, okay? I was an ass to Donna when she and I were broken up—"

"I'm not the guy she needs, man." Hyde's tongue had grown dry. The bourbon was calling him, but he stayed put in the armchair. "No matter what fucking road I take, it'll hurt her..." His fingers swept over his mustache, as if they had their own will. "Been trying to find the path that'll hurt her the least."

"Then I've got some sage advice for you, my friend." Forman stood up and went to the door. "Get your head out of your ass."

He left the room and shut the door behind him, and Hyde snatched his bourbon from its dark corner. Regardless of his choices, the outcome would be the same for him.

 _For him._ Pure fucking egoism. He'd become _that_ guy, someone he'd sworn never to be. Someone, maybe, he was destined to be.

The bottle of bourbon felt good in his hands. It would feel better poured down his throat. Then the pain would come, marching on his spine and stabbing at his skull. Jackie had felt good in his hands, too, until he'd strangled her soft heart.

His fingers were latticed over the bourbon bottle. They loosened, and the bottle dropped to the concrete floor, unbroken. _Fuck destiny._ He'd never believed in it, and he wasn't going to start now.

* * *

Jackie sped through the Formans' living room, intending to hide in the kitchen. She needed a break from the party, but as the kitchen door neared, she spotted a glimpse of Steven. Not the man himself but his handiwork. Draped across the Formans' widest bookcase was a pair of streamers. They'd been attached with his method, using loops of tape behind the streamers for a clean removal.

Not utilizing flat strips of tape was considerate but inefficient. The streamers were threatening to pop off. Jackie rubbed them back into submission, glad for something to do. Unlike the Formans' Christmas party, this gathering was an intimate affair. Everyone but her was partnered up with someone or something. Donna and Eric had ensconced themselves in the den, an opportunity provided by Michael. He was distracting Mrs. Forman with photos of Betsy.

Mr. Forman and Mr. Pinciotti, meanwhile, were arguing about football. They were sitting on the couch, on opposite sides of Fez. Their voices rose above the stereo, but Fez didn't seem to notice. He was too busy gobbling up Mrs. Forman's cookies.

Jackie had been waiting for Steven since the party began. She was waiting now by the bookcase as her watch ticked away the minutes: half-past ten ... three-quarters past, and her feet hurt in her heels. Standing this long couldn't be good for her healing ankle. Steven probably wouldn't show, but the year wasn't over yet.

She abandoned the bookcase and climbed the carpeted stairs. Her vigil continued on a high step. She'd spy Steven's arrival through the railing—if he ever decided to stop shunning her.

More minutes ticked by, but the party didn't evolve. Mr. Forman and Mr. Pinciotti continued debating football. Fez ate cookies and drank milk, and the railing started to resemble prison bars. It was made up of wooden spindles, Jackie pressed her forehead into one.

"You might not wanna do that."

She jerked away from the railing. Michael was standing a few steps down from her.

"Yeah, you might not wanna be on the stairs at all," he said, "in case people call you mean names."

She pressed her forehead into the spindle again. No one kept anything to themselves around here, including herself. "What do you want, Michael?"

"Just trying to keep you safe. Don't want you falling, you know?"

"Yes. Thank you," she said, and her brusque tone must have gotten through because he left her alone.

 _Just trying to keep you safe._ She appreciated his sentiment, but life wasn't safe. Her father had landed in prison, and her mother had traipsed off to Europe. Their loyalty to her was non-existent. Her friends' loyalty was hit or miss, and Steven pledged allegiance only to himself nowadays—except for that night in Kenosha's woods.

She huffed and squeezed the wooden spindles hard. No tears tonight, though each tick of her watch brought them closer. Ten fifty-nine … eleven o'clock … one-minute-past, and the kitchen door swung open. She angled her head toward it and found Steven glancing up at her.

Her heart stuttered painfully. He was clean-shaven, and over a long-sleeved shirt was the T-shirt he'd given her. The one she'd returned to him for Christmas. His sunglasses were hooked on the collar, and two cans of soda were in his hands. Not beer. _Soda._

"Steven!" Mrs. Forman stumbled over to him and cupped his cheeks. "You shaved! Does this mean you stopped brooding? That you're over Little Miss Stripper-Face?"

She sounded drunk, but Steven's eyes weren't on her. They were still on Jackie, and he said, "I'm over _something._ "

Jackie retreated from the railing. She couldn't look at him anymore. The ache in her chest had become too strong, but the vibration of his boots soon thudded into her body. He was climbing the stairs. Should she stand? No. He'd probably climb past her and escape into Eric or Laurie's room.

He didn't.

He stopped on the step below where her feet rested, and he held out a can of Tab. Her favorite soda. A peace offering? She accepted it from him, and he sat down beside her.

His soda opened with a frothy hiss. It was root beer, his second favorite, and he took a sip. Took another sip. Was he waiting for her to speak? She wasn't going to do it. He had to start, and she opened her Tab.

The fizzy cola tickled the back of her throat. Carbon dioxide burned her nose, and a snort itched to get out, but she held it in. She must have looked bad. Her face was scrunched up, and tears clotted her lashes. "It's the soda," she said preemptively. "Went up my nose."

"You shoulda tapped the can before opening it," he said, advice he'd given her countless times.

"I'm nervous. I forgot."

"Am I sittin' too close?"

"No." An inch of space existed between them, but their bodies were exchanging heat. "Why?"

"Haven't earned this spot." He drank from his root beer again. Some of it coated the area above his lip, and he licked it off. "Haven't been myself."

She nodded, afraid to speak. By some miracle he was opened up, but one wrong word from her could shut him down.

"I got lucky," he said without prompting. "Larry gave me my way out, but—I don't expect you to believe this—I was ready to end things with Sam before he showed." He swallowed a belch, something he hadn't done in months, something he used to do for Jackie a lot. "Got damn lucky. Should've known something was up with her, cuttin' and bleachin' her hair. She was hiding out from her grandpa-husband."

Jackie sipped from her Tab for courage. Information about Samantha was all well and good, but she needed more. "You've been avoiding me."

She was looking squarely into his naked eyes, and he didn't flinch from her gaze. "What you said about me at the county fair, man … you were right. I am a coward. Never thought of myself that way..." sadness thickened in his voice, "but Vegas, Sam, the nurse—hell, W.B. and Grooves, too—I took my shit out on you. Keep taking my shit out on you."

"Part of it's..." Her own cowardice stopped her from saying more. She put the can of Tab to her lips, tipped back her head, and the cola poured into her mouth. She swallowed it down until the can was empty, and a belch ripped out of her.

Steven laughed softly. "Man, you chugged that like a pro."

"Part of it's my fault," she said. It wasn't a free pass to him, but they'd both stay imprisoned if she didn't take the risk. "You tried talking to me about your dad and Angie, about the record company—all of it. How overwhelmed you were, and I piled more pressure onto you. The proposal. The future. I was so caught up in myself that I couldn't hear your pleas for help."

"Can't believe you're talkin' so rationally about this. You should be kicking me in the stones."

"I already punched you there, remember? If you think it'll help, I'll do it again—"

"Yeah, let's stick with the rational talk."

Jackie's gaze dropped to her empty can of Tab. "I let you drown. You tried holding onto me when everything happened this year..." she rolled the can between her palms, "but I shoved you under the water and swam away."

"Uh-uh. My responsibility."

Her cheeks grew hot, and she put the can of Tab on the step above her. _His responsibility?_ She played with the charms of her bracelet, symbols of their relationship. Her greatest wish these last few weeks was to finish the unfinished, but the bracelet was a circle. It had no end.

"I'm still in love with you," she said quietly.

Steven drank from his root beer before answering. "But you can't trust me."

"Is that a warning or a statement of fact?"

He leaned his head back, as she had minutes ago, and guzzled down the rest of his root beer. "Been repeating the same mistake over and over," he said. "Self-awareness doesn't make up for not changing." He crushed the empty can in his fist then tossed it over the railing. It was the first act of his tonight that scared her. His second was standing up. "Fucked up one time too many, doll. We both know it."

He began to climb down the stairs, and panic surged through her. He couldn't leave, not yet. She grabbed onto the cuff of his jeans. He peered at her over his shoulder, and her every nerve lit up like a sparkler. His eyes were wet.

* * *

Jackie had become a blurry combination of colors on the steps. Hyde blinked to clear his vision, and the wetness of his lashes made him sick. Tears were worse than vomit, worse than blood, and the reason for them rotted his insides. This was the end, man. This was their goodbye.

"Are you still in love with me?" she said.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes!" She tugged on the bottom of his jeans. "Steven, I don't want to spend my life without you."

The confession pierced his skull. She was risking herself for him, as she'd done too many times before. "I could tell ya I won't hurt you again," he said, "but who the hell knows?"

"You're talking to me now instead of avoiding me. That's not cowardice, and you're not insane! If you know what your pattern is, you can break it."

"Maybe I am insane." He turned around on the stairs and faced her. "Maybe you are, too. Insanity is doin' the same thing repeatedly and expectin' a different outcome." He crouched down, and his hands landed on her knees. "You can do better than me."

Her palms brushed over the top of his hands, and gooseflesh rose on his arms. No other chick had ever affected him like this, not by doing so little. He wanted to go beyond touching her, but his body was contaminated. Disease-free but nonetheless tainted, and he wouldn't subject her to it.

He pulled his hands from her knees, but she grasped his long, thermal sleeves, keeping him where he was. "I may have perfect beauty," she said, "but I'm not perfect. I almost ruined Eric's homecoming by telling him about Randy. He hurt me, so I wanted to hurt him back. I didn't even think about the consequences."

"Not the same."

"It is the same! I'm a flawed diamond, but I'm still worth having." Her fingers enclosed his wrists, but they didn't feel like cuffs. "You're flawed, too, but you're still worth loving."

He yanked himself free of her. Every instinct told him to fucking leave already. "There's no resolution here, Jackie."

"New Year's Eve was made for resolutions." She stood up and forced her palm against his chest. "I know—probably better than anyone—both the cruelty and kindness that lie inside you." She pushed harder against his heart. She had to feel it beating. "Did you fall out of love with me in Chicago?"

"No."

"In Las Vegas?"

"No."

"When you came back to Point Place?"

"No." He covered her hand on his chest. She might've deserved better than him, but he also owed her the truth. "Me bein' in love with you … it doesn't stop me from treating you like shit."

"But you _can_ stop it. Don't you want to?"

His throat tightened, making his voice hoarse. "The last three months, man, I can't take 'em back."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I wanna kick my own ass. Beat the crap outta myself for what I've put you through."

"You're already doing that." She caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "But you're worth so much to me, Puddin'..."

His eyes fell closed at her touch. "You're worth everything to me."

"Then let's make a pact, Steven."

His eyes snapped open. "What kinda pact?"

"A year of friendship." She wiped fallen tears from her chin. "Nothing physical between us, but neither of us can have sex with anyone else. If trust is rebuilt by the end of 1980, I'll kiss you when the clock strikes midnight."

"And?"

"And we'll be together again." A tear rolled off her nose. Her idea was laughable in its idealism, but she'd always been that way—idealistic.

"This pact, man," he said, "it's a major freakin' commitment."

She bounced a little on the step above him. "Uh-huh."

"A year."

"A year. Like the one Eric's spending away from Donna."

"A year of celibacy," he said flatly, but he'd have no better chance to prove himself to her, what she meant to him. "What the hell … I'm in."

"Oh, Steven!" She flung her arms around his neck. The earthy, floral, and spicy scent of her perfume entered his nose, and his body responded in an unwelcome way. He ached to hold her close, to let her feel how much he loved her, but she'd also get a dose of his lust. "Steven?" Her arms loosened around him. "You're not hugging me back."

"Might be a year before I can," he said and withdrew from her arms. "Let's start with this," he wrapped his fingers around her hand, "okay?"

"Okay."

He led her down the stairs and glanced at his watch. Three minutes until midnight. They'd finished just in time. Red was shouting for everyone to get their asses to the driveway. They did, following after a sloshed Bob and Mrs. Forman.

The cold air outside permeated Hyde's clothes, but it also cleared his senses of Jackie's perfume. The porch lights lit the driveway, bright enough to see by without turning night into day. Forman was handing out unlit sparklers, and he grinned as he passed Hyde and Jackie a pair.

Kelso frowned at his. "Red shoulda let me bring the bottle rockets."

"Just be glad you're holding anything involving fire," Donna said, and she lit Kelso's sparkler with a match.

"This isn't so bad." He waved the crackling sparkler around. "Be better if it were a bottle rocket, though."

"Be better if you were smarter." Hyde guided Jackie away from Kelso, in case the moron had stronger fireworks in his pockets. They ended up beside Mrs. Forman and Red, who seemed happy together. Forman had come home at the right time.

"One minute to midnight," Jackie said. "Hurry up!"

Hyde pulled out his lighter and lit his and Jackie's sparklers. White light poured from the wooden sticks, defying the winter wind gusting through the driveway. His thermal sleeves offered decent protection, but Jackie's sleeves were thinner than his. She was shivering.

He slung his arm over her shoulders. "This cool?" he said. She answered by sliding her fingers between the spaces of his. His impulse was to brush his lips against her temple, but he hadn't earned the right to kiss her.

_"Ten, nine, eight..."_

The count down to the new year had begun. Voices lifted into the cloudless night sky, and stars shimmered like mini-fireworks. Red and Mrs. Forman were holding each other while Forman and Donna danced their sparklers together. Kelso, Fez, and Bob had become a trio, with Fez gazing at Kelso a bit too meaningfully.

_"Seven, six, five..."_

Jackie leaned her head on Hyde's chest and smiled up at him warmly. He smiled back, grateful for this opportunity, for this moment. She'd wrested another go out of him. Kept offering him other ways of looking at himself, better ways.

_"Four, three, two..."_

1979 had almost done him in. He'd tried to take Jackie down in the process, but they were spending the last seconds of this year as friends. A sensation he was unaccustomed to billowed inside him. He was unsure what to call it—awe? Or maybe it was wonder. How the hell had the connection between him and Jackie survived?

_"One! Happy New Year!"_

Jackie dropped her sparkler onto the driveway. She turned her body into his and hugged him. "Happy New Year, Steven."

His own sparkler fell to the ground. A drunken rendition "Auld Lang Syne" flooded the driveway, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. It deafened him as he hugged her back. "You're gonna have a good one," he whispered.

"What? Say that again."

He nuzzled her hair from her cheek. "You're gonna have a good year," he said loudly. She needed to hear him over the raucous singing. Because even if he couldn't hack being the man she deserved, he'd make damn sure 1980 was worthy of her.


	7. A New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 7  
 **A NEW YEAR**

_January 19, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Danger Hill, Pleasant Park_

**...**

Hyde dropped his tire sled onto the snow. His muscles were complaining after a fourth climb, but the hill was steep. Only a few parents and their kids dared to sled here, making it the least-populated spot in Pleasant Park. The wire fence at the bottom acted as an effective deterrent. Even Hyde was leery of sledding on this hill, but he liked not dealing with screaming, living obstacles—in other words, a crowd of children. So he, Jackie, and Fez had claimed the cornily-named Danger Hill for themselves.

"Steven, can I _please_ sled with you?" Jackie said. She had her wooden flyer sled with her, and Fez was dragging his toboggan up the hill. "There's no ice here. We'll be safe."

The snow wasn't his problem. It was fresh and hard-packed after last night's snowfall, but he and Jackie had clarified their pact on January 1st. Physical distance was the rule, in exchange for emotional honestly.

"We're only nineteen days in." He glanced down the hill. Fez needed to hurry his ass up. Hyde was using him as a buffer, to keep non-platonic feelings from manifesting into actions."You really wanna go there?"

"We'll barely be touching—Steven, would you look at me?"

He pulled his gaze back toward Jackie. Her knit ski hat nearly covered her eyes, but the cold had brought out the color in her face, in her lips.

"See all of this?" She grabbed onto the thick material of her jacket. Then she grabbed the material of his coat. " _That's_ what'll be touching. Not us."

"Tryin' to find loopholes, huh?"

"Maybe." She blew out a puff of white air. "Why can't two friends sled down a hill together? Fez and Michael used to do it all the time."

"We're not them," he said, and she stared at him, clearly waiting for a more elaborate response. What was he supposed to tell her? That he still felt Samantha on his body? Mrs. Forman's kitchen cleanser smelled like lemons, like Sam's perfume, and raised those memories daily. His skin begged to be scrubbed of his mistakes, but he wouldn't pollute Jackie with them. He'd cut of all contact with her before that happened.

"Steven—" she began to say, but the sound of huffing distracted both of them. Fez had finally climbed the hill. His cheeks were flushed, and he was breathing heavily.

"Your white-man's winter can go to hell!" he said and tossed his toboggan's rope onto the snow. "Oh, sure, your hills tempt us with promises of heart-intoxifying speed. But then we have to climb back up! Over and over again, we must toil in the snow for a few glorious seconds of paradise."

"If my dad still had money, I'd convince him to fund a chairlift here," Jackie said. "We could rename this place Burkhart Park..." Her eyes became glassy, how they usually did when she was lost in fantasy, but then they fixed on Hyde. " _Your_ dad has money!" She slapped his shoulder with her gloved hand. "Tell him to get on it!"

She slapped his shoulder a few more times, and he grasped her hand to make her stop. "Yeah, he's not gonna do that. Even if he did, he'd name it Barnett Park."

"Do you see what you're doing?" She nodded at their hands. He hadn't let go of hers. "You're touching me."

"Technically, our gloves are touching," he said, and a grin spread across her face. "Damn it." _Busted._ She'd caught him.

"Sled?" she said cutely.

"Fine. Fez—watch my tire."

Fez slumped onto the tire. "Yes, I will catch my breath while sitting on your white-man's tire."

"I'm half black, man."

"Your tire is all black," Fez said, "but it's still a white-man's tire."

"It's Japanese."

"I said _white-man's tire!_ "

Hyde laughed into the collar of his coat. The day had already entertained him, but adding an annoyed Fez into the mix made it that much better.

"Get in the back," Jackie said. She was sitting on her sled and holding the steering rope.

He sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His chest pressed into her back, and her butt fit snugly against the crotch of his jeans. A warm and frustrating sensation pushed through his nerves, but practical thoughts pushed it out. The sled was just long enough to accommodate him and Jackie. If he moved half an inch backward, his ass would be in the snow.

"You ready?" he said.

"Yeah!"

His boots shoved against the snowy hill, and the sled began its decent. He lifted his legs up, slid them against Jackie's, and his boots rested on the sled's wooden cross-piece. This moment with her was full of innocence, an experience he'd badly missed.

She cheered as the sled picked up speed. It tore down the hill, cold air whooshed past their ears, and adrenaline crashed into his bloodstream. He couldn't see anything but Jackie's hair. It was whipping into his eyes.

"The fence!" she shouted. "The fence, the fence!"

He thrust his feet into the snow and held onto her tighter. The sled stuttered as it decelerated; then it swerved ninety-degrees to the right. His shoulder avoided banging into the wire fence by barely an inch, but the sled was no longer moving. They were cool.

"Oh, my God—" Jackie patted his knees at her sides. "Are you okay?"

He stretched out his legs then bent them. They felt a bit sore but nothing worth mentioning. "Yup. Wanna go again?"

"Are you kidding?" She leaned back against his chest. "We almost had a repeat of last March!"

"But we didn't. We underestimated the speed of both of us on this thing. We won't the next time."

"You trust us?" Her ski hat had shifted during their run down the hill. Its top braid tickled the bottom of his chin, and her forehead was exposed to the cold. He was no position to warm it up, not the way he truly wanted, so he tugged her hat back down.

"Yeah," he said, "I trust us."

He got off the sled and held out his hand. She took it and stood up in the snow. He grabbed the sled's rope, but she insisted on towing it with him, and together they made the trek back up the hill.

* * *

Nothing beat Mrs. Forman's homemade cocoa, especially after a day of sledding and snowball fights. Hyde swallowed gulpfuls of his cup down, and the hot chocolate warmed his stomach. Mrs. Forman had promised to keep it coming, marshmallows and all. But across the kitchen table from him, Jackie sipped at her cocoa daintily. The topic of conversation had to be affecting her thirst.

"The pay gets me through rent and food," she said, "and I've been saving whatever I can for emergencies. But working as a grunt—even though it's for a successful television show—I don't see any upward movement." Her fingers edged beneath her napkin and drummed on the table. "Christine St. George is an unappreciative bitch."

"Oh, don't call her that," Mrs. Forman said. She was behind the stove and pouring Hyde another cup of cocoa. "She's difficult, but I wouldn't call her … well, all right. I would call her a bitch." She laughed and brought Hyde his fresh cup. "Steven, I made that woman my award-deserving brownies, and she said didn't eat dime-store baked goods. She thought I'd bought them!"

"You shoulda told her you put a bag of 'love' in the mix," he said, and a smile broke through Jackie's gloom. She'd understood his reference, that 'love' meant pot, but he'd had no idea about her struggles. His head had been too far up his own ass the last few months.

"Christine St. George high on 'love,'" she said. "That would definitely be an improvement." Her smile deepened. It looked good on her. He intended to prolong her amusement, but Fez's footsteps thudded on the basement stairs. He was returning from a stint in the bathroom. Hyde had hoped he'd be gone a little longer, even if it meant Fez was servicing himself.

"So, what'd I miss?" Fez said. He sat at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Forman had a cup of cocoa ready for him. "Did you behave yourselves? No footsie, no kissing, no groping—"

"Nothing, Fez. We're staying true to our pact." Jackie took a heartier swallow of her cocoa. "Wow. Mrs. Forman, you deserve awards for this stuff, too. No wonder Steven hasn't moved out yet."

Mrs. Forman's expression fell. The words _moving out_ were banned in this house. Hyde was saving up money to buy his own place, but ... "I've got no place else to be," he said.

"And that's why you get unlimited cocoa!" Mrs. Forman was standing behind him, and she kissed the top of his head. "You know what?" She plunked down in the chair next to Jackie and patted the table in front of her. "I just had a great idea! Jackie, why don't you move in here? We've got two empty bedrooms upstairs that need to be filled. You can sleep in Laurie's and put all your stuff in Eric's!"

Hyde choked on his cocoa. His relationship with Jackie was vulnerable, in the beginning stages of repair. Her moving in here would be bad all around. "Mrs. Forman—" He tried to speak, but he was coughing too much. Tears seeped from his eyes, and he wiped them away with his sleeve.

"You can save money on rent and food," Mrs. Forman continued. "The only rule, though, is no long showers—"

"Thank you, Mrs. Forman," Jackie said and cast Hyde a sideways glance, "but I couldn't do that to Fez."

"Well, he can move in, too!" Nervous laughter peppered Mrs. Forman's speech. "You'd just have to keep your stuff to Laurie's room … or the basement."

Hyde hit his chest as he recovered from coughing—but, _man,_ Mrs. Forman had to be desperate if she were asking Jackie and Fez to move in. Eric had flown back to Africa, and Donna was off in Madison, doing the college-thing. But they couldn't be replaced by Jackie and Fez. "Red's not gonna go for that," Hyde said between straggling coughs.

Jackie's finger traced the rim of her cup. "Yeah. Mr. Forman kind of scares me, but I appreciate the offer."

"Yes, thank you," Fez said.

"Okay, then, I have another idea." Mrs. Forman patted the table again. "How about two nights a week, you regularly join us for dinner? Let's say … Wednesdays and Sundays?"

Jackie and Fez looked at each other. Their faces lit up, and they both said, "Deal."

"Then it's settled." Mrs. Forman rose from the chair and went back to the stove. "Anybody want a cocoa refill?"

"Actually," Hyde said, "Jackie and I need to hit my room for a few."

Jackie raised her eyebrows questioningly, but Fez put up a finger and said, "I cannot allow it."

"Too bad." Hyde pushed himself from the table and stood. "Jackie?"

"I said _no hanky-panky!_ " Fez shouted.

"Hanky-panky's got nothin' to do with it." Hyde extended his hand to Jackie. Her fingers wrapped tightly around his palm, and heat surged into his arm. Her trust in him was bewildering, always had been. It was also a gift, one he'd taken for granted repeatedly—but not anymore. Never freakin' again.

He led her downstairs to the basement, to his room. He pushed the door closed with his hip, and she giggled. It was a move she found playful, and he'd done it on purpose.

"So...?" she said and sat down on his cot.

He backed up to the armchair and flopped onto it sideways. "So..." his legs dangled over the chair's thick arm, "I think you should apply to college."

Another giggle floated out of her. "You're being ridiculous."

"Yup." Half of his mission was accomplished. He'd disarmed her. "I'm also bein' serious. You should go to college. I'll help with tuition—"

"What? No, no, no. Steven, you can't."

"Yeah, I can."

She brushed her hair behind her ears with repetitive, anxious movements. "Mr. Cheeseburger-Wrapped-in-Tinfoil's gonna pay for my tuition? We aren't even doing it!"

"Give us both more fuckin' credit than that." He slid his legs off the chair and sat properly. "I gave Forman the same damn offer, but he'd already signed up for Africa. Part of him wanted—maybe _needed—_ a reason to do somethin' out of his comfort zone."

"So this is an offer from one friend to another?" Her frantic hair-brushing slowed down but didn't stop. His reflex was to get off the armchair, to let her use his body as a shelter. She used to curl into him as he stroked her back, her arms. Soothing touches to calm her. She'd taught him to do that six months into their relationship, after her dad went to prison. Assured him words weren't necessary to console her. But now, as part of their pact, words were all they really had.

"From one friend to another," he said. "I've put some cash into Fez's beauty-school fund. Let me do this for you."

"You sound like your dad."

Maybe he did. Nineteen days of sanity, and W.B.'s influence had reasserted itself, shoving Bud and Edna's aside. "You've been screwed outta everything you wanted." Hyde leaned forward on the chair and clutched his knees. "Let me give this one thing back to you, okay?"

Her hands clasped together on her lap, finally leaving her hair alone. "The _Milwaukee Sentinel_ should run a headline: 'Steven Hyde Turns from Poor, Cheap Orphan to Rich, Parented Philanthropist'."

"Jackie, what's it gonna be?"

Her eyes locked with his, revealing the answer before she spoke. "I'll apply."

* * *

_February 14, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Grooves_

...

Being a TV gofer was about as glamorous as cleaning toilets. Jackie's day thus far had consisted of the usual—getting coffee for Christine St. George, being fired for something minor, being re-hired for something frivolous. She had two more college applications to fill out, but today was a holy day. She needed to spend what was left of it with loved ones, not writing self-searching essays.

Work had ended at a decent hour this afternoon, normal for a Thursday. She'd driven directly to Grooves and parked in its small parking lot. Her white Lincoln made a striking pair with Steven's black El Camino, and she gave herself a moment with his car. Her fingers ran over the cold hood, just as Steven used to caress her body. The intensity of his touch last Valentine's Day, of his words, of all him … this Valentine's Day would be different, but at least she wouldn't suffer.

She blew a kiss to the El Camino before leaving the parking lot. Maybe Steven was anticipating her arrival, but that hope was dashed inside the store. _Captain & Tennille's Greatest Hits_ wasn't playing on Grooves's sound system. He'd put on a Led Zeppelin record.

Her gaze fell to the checkered floor as Robert Plant sang about love being pain. Steven's love for her had become pain after Chicago. It had almost consumed him, driving him to another woman's body—to cruelty. Jackie believed she'd become nothing to him, but the opposite was true. He'd been desperate to cut her out of his heart.

She lifted her gaze, stepped beyond the listening pit, but she was in a non-thinking state. Steven spotted her from behind the checkout counter, and his expression lit up. "Jackie—hey!" He gestured to Randy, who took over the register, and rushed to her side. "How was work?"

"Fine," she said rotely.

"You get fired again?"

"Uh-huh."

"Re-hired?"

"Uh-huh."

"So a typical day."

She nodded, and functionality returned to her brain. Steven knew all about her job now, thanks to their dinners at the Formans', and she placed the flat of her hand on his chest. It was a violation of their general no-touching rule, but she needed to feel his heartbeat. It pounded strong and steady beneath her palm.

He glided his hand over her fingers, just as he'd done on New Year's Eve. "What's wrong?" he said and gently lifted her hand off him. He had to be uncomfortable with the contact, but then his fingers curled protectively around her palm.

"I understand you better now than I did a few minutes ago," she said.

His eyebrow quirked up. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes." She disentangled her hand from his. "Why do you always sound incredulous when I say that?"

He answered her with a soft laugh. It held no ridicule, only affection. His love for her was radiating off him like sunlight, and desire soaked into her skin. She pushed back against it. They had less than two months of trust between them. Not enough time to sustain anything beyond friendship.

"What do you understand?" he said with the same, soft affection in his voice.

She peered around the store. Too many people were browsing the records. "Let's go to your office."

"Sure." His office occupied one of the store's back corners, and they went there together. He turned the doorknob and said, "Was gonna ask you to come in here anyway."

"Why?" she said, but the smell of pot smoke wafted out from the office. Steven ushered her inside and shut the door. Leo was leaning back in Steven's chair with a joint all but smoked to ash.

"Break's over, man." Steven opened the office's one window wide. "Told you to use a bong when you're in here. Smells less."

"Oh, yeah..." Leo chuckled, and he pinched out the joint. The nub was being held by a long paper clip, and he dumped all of it into his vest pocket. "I'll remember for the next time." He stood up slowly from the chair, and his dazed eyes fixed on Jackie. "Loud Girl? What happened to Big Boobs?"

Steven sighed. "Big Boobs is gone, man. She's married to Grampa." He seemed weary, like he'd explained this to Leo this hundreds of times. "Loud Girl's—"

"You love Loud Girl!" Leo smiled at him. "Yeah, it's comin' back to me, man." Then he looked at Jackie again. "Don't go to Chicago. It makes Hyde mopey."

"I have no plans."

"Cool, man." Leo strolled toward the office door. "Cool."

He left, and Steven closed the door behind him. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," she said. "I'm just glad he calls me 'Loud Girl' instead of 'Small Boobs'. My breasts are in perfect proportion to the rest of my body."

His jaw clenched, as if he were struggling to speak his thoughts. His face relaxed after a few breaths, but a gust of wind swept in through the window. It disturbed the papers on his desk and made her shiver. "Damn it." He went to the window and pushed it down. Only a two-inch crack was left open.

"Steven, I know you're into blonde, big-breasted, long-legged slutty types. Pam Macy, Kat Peterson, Samantha. I'm a lot smaller than all of them—perfectly in proportion, but smaller. That won't change."

"Your body had nothin' do with me and Sam," he said. "When she and I screwed, I wasn't even screwing a person. It—"

Jackie put up a hand. "You can skip this."

"Don't think I can." He stepped closer to her, and she didn't back off. She stood her ground as the space between them shrank to intimacy. "I wasn't fuckin' her as my wife," he said, and she clutched the denim of her jeans. "I was fuckin' myself using her body—and not in a Fezian way. In a 'go fuck yourself' way." His eyes were shielded by his sunglasses, but the intensity of his gaze broke through. "I know you heard us. Heard me..."

She took a step backward. His raw admission had hoisted her sunken feelings to the surface. "The way you sounded with her scared me. You never—you'd never cursed when we made love. I had such a hard time imagining how you and Samantha were..." Her fingers twisted deeper in denim of her jeans.

"Good. You shouldn't have to see that crap in your head." He moved away from her and went to his desk. "Love didn't exist in what Sam and I did, not on my end. _Hate's_ a more accurate word."

"You hated her?"

"Myself."

The desk's metal drawer rolled open, and Steven pulled out a nicely-wrapped gift box. It even had a pink bow, but she suppressed every urge to ask about it. "Yourself?" she said. "Not me?"

"For not bein' able to quit lovin' you." He gestured for her to come to the desk, and she sat down in the chair opposite him. "This emotional honesty shit still workin' for you?"

"Yes," she said, though every new truth shoved needles under her fingernails. "It hurts, too."

He removed his sunglasses and tossed them on the desk, beside the gift box. Shame and grief were blending on his face. Most people probably would've missed it, but Jackie had studied how emotion manifested in his body. That knowledge often helped them communicate, particularly when he became uncommunicative.

"It's a purposeful hurt," she said. "and I'll recover. If I'd lost you forever …that's something I wouldn't have recovered from."

He cleared his throat, as if he would speak, but he said nothing as the anguish on his face faded.

"Anyway," she continued, "I realized on my own today that I never stopped being all you desired." She brushed her hair off her shoulder for emphasis. "Jackie Burkhart is an unforgettable woman, Steven. Once a man falls in love with me, he's doomed forever—unless I love him back."

"You sound like your freakin' mom."

"Facts are facts, no matter who says them." She tried to keep her manner haughty, but a silent giggle leaked through. _Damn._ He'd caught it, and his smirk made her break the facade completely. "Oh, shut up!"

"Didn't say anything."

"Not out loud, but I heard your thoughts."

He slid the gift toward her on the desk. "Open it."

"You got me a Valentine's Day present?" She held onto the gift but didn't open it. Steven had never gotten her something on Valentine's Day. He'd always given her something either day before or the day after, to prove he wasn't suckered by _an_ _artificial, corporate money-making holiday._

"Nope. I got you a present from one friend to another," he said." Just happened to be givin' it to you today. Coincidence."

"Whatever you say, Steven." But she believed him, and she pulled the ribbon off the wrapped box. Then, delicately, she began to remove the wrapping.

"What're you waitin' for, man? Rip it off."

"That's not how I do things."

"Since when?"

"Since now." She swallowed another silent giggle. Messing with him was fun, but curiosity bypassed every other impulse. Her nails tore into the wrapping paper and revealed a white box—the same exact size and make as the one he'd given her for Christmas. The words _Cherish Beads_ were embossed on the lid in silver.

Her right thumb rubbed over her bare left wrist. "I didn't lose the bracelet," she said. "I put it away. It represents our past, and I want us to move forward—"

"So move forward." He pointed to the box. "Open it."

She did, and inside was a new silver charm bracelet. She lifted it out of the box, but unlike the first one he gave her, only two charms dangled from it.

"Pleasant Park," he said and indicated the charms. A pewter tire hung next to a grouping of three silver balls. They had to symbolize their time sledding together and the snowball fight. "Since we're doin' the friends-thing, I wanted to commemorate it. Plan on gettin' you new charms each month."

"Oh, my God." She brought the bracelet to her heart. It was one of the most romantic gifts she'd ever gotten, from friend or lover. She stood up and darted around the desk. "I'm using mine," she said, meaning the single embrace she was allotted a month, as outlined in their pact.

He got out of his chair, and she looped her arms around his back. He held her snugly, and she laid her head on his chest, reveling in how good his hugs were. Their bodies fit together as if they'd been created to.

"Thank you," she said.

His lips pressed warmly into the top of her head. He was finally kissing her, one of his sweet kisses, and she tightened her grip on him. "You're welcome," he said into her hair.

They released each other, and she made a correction to a previous thought. The bracelet was a romantic gift, but it was only part of a bigger whole. Giving her a year of friendship—and promising not to give his body to anyone else—that was the most romantic gift she'd ever received.

* * *

_March 24, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_Forman's Basement_

**…**

Three months had passed since Hyde's illegal marriage to Samantha ended. It was the same number of months he'd spent with her, but all their time together was empty, especially when compared to an hour with Jackie. Her presence alone injected the mundane with a rush. He didn't need artifice or conflict for fulfillment. Their connection was enough.

Usually, they went to movies, played Chess, or took drives around town. They talked or didn't. It was what they'd always done, just without touching. Fez accompanied them sometimes, but he'd cut his chaperone duties in half. His absence made the _without touching_ part harder, but Hyde kept the long view. Giving into his body meant giving up Jackie, and that was a sacrifice he was unwilling to make.

Fez's fading dedication had complicated matters, but its cause was amusing. Fez had hooked Randy with a shampoo at the salon. Their growing and odd friendship was easily burnable, but Randy had no idea what he'd entered into. Fez's gazes were increasing in both duration and frequency. _I wish I looked like you,_ was his usual excuse, but Hyde doubted it.

Randy had the same androgynous look as Kelso. That was no coincidence, and Jackie claimed Fez would discover his true nature by the end of the year. Hyde took that bet. He'd also gotten some information today she'd find intriguing, but it would have to wait. She rarely dropped by the basement on Mondays. They were late workdays for her, full of meetings for _What's Up Wisconsin?_

Mondays inched by like a car stuck in bottleneck traffic.

To distract himself from missing her, he often did chores. Washed the Formans' dishes and scrubbed the kitchen counters. He'd bought a new, fragrance-free cleanser, so lemon-scented memories of Sam no longer assaulted him. His skin felt less diseased, but that allowed for dirty thoughts to take hold.

In the store today, Randy had played an ABBA's _Voulez-Vous_ just to screw with him. But it sent him back to days with Jackie. She'd sing badly on top of her ABBA records while dancing provocatively. Her sexy cuteness never failed. It incited him into full arousal, and he'd become so weak against her that he gave in. He'd make love to her while freakin' "Dancing Queen" played on his damn stereo.

Hours of fending off Jackie-filled fantasies had tensed him up. He rolled back his shoulders and sat straighter in his chair. _Little House on the Prairie's_ theme song was spiraling through his stress. He'd planned on letting the show distract him, but it offered the wrong kind of relaxation He bolted to his room without shutting off the TV, locked the door, and flopped onto his cot. His jeans and briefs were down by his calves in seconds. He took himself in his hand and started to jerk off the pressure of the day.

The process proved more difficult than anticipated. His brain had trouble conjuring suitable visuals, and Jackie was off-limits. That torturous part of their pact was known only to him. He was tempted to break it, but he reached underneath his cot and pulled out a dusty _Playboy._ The images inside helped speed things along, but three hard knocks on his door disrupted his progress.

"Steven!" Jackie's muffled voice burst into his room followed by more door-pounding. "Steven, I have to tell you something!"

She sounded scared, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, his dick would have to wait, and he yanked up his briefs and jeans. His hard-on was slightly visible through the denim, but it was nothing she hadn't seen before.

He opened the door, and Jackie greeted him just outside his room. Two thick packets were in her hands, and her face was flush with excitement, not fear, if her grin was any indication. His body was flush, too, but his excitement would become pain if he didn't soften up.

"Two of the colleges I applied to accepted me!" she said. "One of them is the University of Wisconsin-Parkside, " she held up the packet in her left hand, "which isn't too expensive, and it's only twenty minutes away by car. The other is..." she waved the packet in her right hand, "THE MILWAUKEE FASHION INSTITUTE!"

Her shrieked announcement punched through Hyde's eardrums. He winced and backed up into his room, but she went on as if he hadn't. "They even offered me a merit-based scholarship. They were really impressed by my application and letters of recommendation. The executive producer of _What's Up, Wisconsin?_ wrote me one, and it must've been good! Oh, Steven..." she stuffed the packets under her arm and grabbed his wrist, "the future I want is really gonna happen!"

She pulled his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles, something she used to do when they were a couple. "MFI's forty minutes from Point Place," she said, laying her cheek where she'd kissed him, "but your dad and annoying sister are there, so you'll be visiting anyway."

Her happiness was infectious, and her flesh heated both his hand and his impatient arousal. He should've withdrawn, but he wouldn't ruin her moment. "This is great, man," he said. "And Fez probably has a new roommate lined up for when you leave, so it'll all work out."

She lifted her cheek off his knuckles, "You mean Randy?"

"Yeah." His arm dropped to his side, and a pulsing ache set into his hips.

"Fez is _so_ going to ask him on a date by December," she said.

"Not gonna happen. The second Fez sees Randy's ding-dong, he'll run for the hills. Probably thinks Randy's got a muff down there."

"Oh, Fez isn't that stupid!"

"But he does get easily confused. The bet's as good as won."

She waved at him dismissively. "Enough about that. Let's celebrate!"

Images of kissing Jackie flooded his mind. He ignored them—and the fact he'd already eaten. "You have dinner yet?"

"No. I got my mail as soon as I got to my building. Then I drove straight here … oh!" She darted from his room to the couch. She sat down on it and placed her college packets beside her. "I have to call Fez! I didn't even go upstairs to our apartment. He must be worried sick." She picked up the phone from the side table and put it on her lap. "I have to tell him the good news—and that I'm okay—and that you're taking me out to dinner."

"I'm gonna pay your college tuition. I gotta pay for dinner, too?" He had no problem treating her. Hell, he wanted to, but they were cheating little-by-little on their pact. They still had over eight months to go. They needed to stick to their damn rules.

"We'll go to The Sizzler," she said. "I paid for your dinner there once, remember? And we were barely friends then."

He nodded. The Sizzler was fine by him.

She began to dial the phone, and he ducked into the bathroom. Her beaming face was imprinted behind his eyes, and he swallowed a groan as he finally relieved the painful throb between his thighs. Another broken rule, one he'd likely break from here on in.


	8. Irreplaceable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 8  
 **IRREPLACEABLE**

_April 26, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_The Formans' Garage_

**...**

Jackie found Steven in the Formans' garage. A dirty cloth lay on the metal workbench, and Steven had another cloth in his hand. He was scrubbing wax off the El Camino's hood, and she was glad he'd sheltered himself in the garage. Though Wisconsin's cold temperature seeped inside, the wind didn't penetrate any of the doors.

Steven was wearing a thick plaid shirt, but he'd rolled the sleeves to his elbows. The collar was open, too, giving her a peak of his white undershirt. He hadn't noticed her arrival yet. She wasn't standing in his direct line of sight, and he was so focused on the El Camino.

She chose to remain silent for now, clutching a gift-wrapped box and admiring how his body moved. The muscles in his forearms tensed as he worked. He was bent over the car, and he wiped wax off the hood deftly, using the right balance of tenderness and strength.

His treatment of the El Camino was both temptation and torment, and Jackie stood rigidly as her arousal built. Blood was coursing through places he hadn't touched in eight months. Had they been dating, she would've taken advantage of their privacy. His lips looked entirely too kissable. They were flushed from exertion or the chilled air, but she skipped toward him and said a friendly, unsuggestive, "Hi."

He straightened up, and those enticing lips slid into a grin. "Hey."

"I got you something." She held out the gift-wrapped box.

"Why?" He tossed the cloth onto the El Camino's hood and wiped his palms on his jeans. Then he took the present and examined the small box. "'Cause I woke up early on a Saturday?"

"You _are_ up early for a Saturday, but no." She showed him her left wrist. Her silver bracelet and its seven charms gleamed in the garage's lights. He'd stayed true to his word, getting her charms to commemorate their time together. "I wanted to give you something back."

He shook his head slightly. "You didn't have to—"

"I spent more time on it than money. I even re-used one of the _Cherish Beads_ boxes you gave me … okay?"

He answered by tearing off the wrapping paper. He opened the white box and pulled out the beaded necklace she'd crafted. Its braided leather slipped between his fingers, and the wooden beads rested against his palm and wrist. He was staring at the gift, studying it, but she couldn't read his expression.

A thousand tiny Jackies marched inside her stomach. They made her feel like a thirteen-year-old girl, one with a crush on the coolest, sweetest boy in school, but neither she nor Steven were children anymore. Her heart was still healing from the wounds he'd carved into it.

"I remember you wearing necklaces like that," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "and then you suddenly stopped. They seemed to fit who you are, and I..."

Her words evaporated as he removed his sunglasses. He hooked them onto his undershirt collar, and his eyes focused more deeply on the necklace. "I quit wearin' them after I got arrested," he said. "The cops had taken the one I was wearin' that night and put it in an evidence envelope—along with my watch, ring, and lighter. Made me realize how little I had."

"The night you were arrested for m—me?" Her voice caught. The army of tiny Jackies had crawled up her throat and were stabbing it with their high-heeled shoes. "But you had more than you were carrying with you."

He rubbed his thumb over one of the necklace's bigger beads. "Not talkin' about material stuff."

"Mr. Forman wouldn't have kicked you out if he'd known the truth," she said. "If you hadn't kept trying to protect me." Her voice had become scratchy, and she swallowed, attempting to moisten it up. "You should have told him, Steven. Rumors might've started, but they would've added to my mystique."

"Yeah. Right." He chuckled softly, and his fingers curled around the necklace in a fist. "The ring came from my uncle. The watch I'd bought with my second paycheck from the Fotohut. Wasn't gonna get rid of those. But the necklace reminded me I didn't belong anywhere. Red wouldn't have kicked out Forman for doin' what I did—'cause Forman's actually his kid. "

"Puddin' ... you had a lot back then," she cradled his fist in both hands, "and you have a lot now. I could make a list, but I know lists bore you. So I'll just say what you had back then was enough to attract _me_ —a beautiful, upper-class woman with luxurious tastes—to a poor, scruffy orphan."

She let go of his fist and kissed his knuckles, knowing full-well the rules she was breaking. Their pact stipulated that no pet names were to be spoken, that touching was to be avoided, and kissing shouldn't even cross their minds. He'd violated the latter two himself a few times, but they were minor infractions.

"You don't have to wear the necklace," she said and backed up to the garage's closed, overhead door. She placed her palms against the cold metal, hoping it would cool off the growing heat inside her. "You can hide it in your room somewhere."

"Did you make it?"

"Mm-hmm. I had some beads left over from an arts camp I went to. They were high up in my closet—at the house. The place is so empty and dusty." She shuddered. The mansion had become a sad monument to her childhood. Her mother refused to sell it, but it served mainly as storage for her family's possessions. "This was a mistake," she said and gestured to herself. "Maybe you should give back the necklace."

"Why?"

"It's reminding me I don't really belong anywhere."

"Yeah, you do." He looped the necklace around his neck and clasped it. After a minor positional adjustment, the largest bead lay below his Adam's apple. "This feels right," he said serenely, pumping adrenaline into Jackie's system.

Her lust for him was speeding up her heart. It shortened her breath, befuddled her thoughts. Her gaze drifted to his belt buckle, and a merciless ache settled between her legs. She forced her gaze upward. The earth-toned necklace complimented his fair skin and, more significantly, signaled she belonged with him.

Warning bells rattled her skull, but the commotion in her chest overwhelmed her. She charged forward, cupped the back of his head, and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn't resist as their lips made contact. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed her mouth against his so passionately he'd make no mistake of her intentions. His butt slammed against the El Camino's freshly-waxed hood, and his arms locked around her back for balance. Then one of his hands snaked into her hair, and the other glided over her hip.

His touch ignited her thoughts, setting little fires in her mind. By now, his time away from Samantha exceeded the time he'd spent with her. That fact drove Jackie deeper into longing. She yanked open Steven's plaid shirt, popping off a few buttons in the process. Her hands slipped beneath his undershirt, and the heat of his stomach warmed her palms . He sucked in a breath as if she'd frozen him, but then his kisses grew more intense and blazed through her body.

"Tailgate," she whispered in a stolen breath.

He led her to the back of the garage and lowered the El Camino's tailgate. He sat on the flatbed, and she risked a glance at his eyes. They reflected the need spiraling through her. This moment was a mutual decision— _thank God_ —and she climbed onto his lap.

Her legs wrapped around his waist. He supported her back as their mouths met again, and she ground into his obvious hardness. She didn't need to wait another eight months. Couldn't wait. They had to be together _right now._

* * *

Hyde's sanity was buried beneath an ecstatic delirium. His breaths left him heavily, and he was palming Jackie's butt, guiding their rhythm. They were both wearing jeans, but the denim allowed plenty of friction and heat.

She called his name quietly. Soon she'd be screaming it, and he'd be drowning in euphoria, robbing him of her forever.

His hands swept up her back, and his arms tightened around her. Then he scooted them both off the Camino's flatbed. Their feet landed on the garage's cement floor, and her face filled with the same panic he was feeling. "What is it?" she said. "What's wrong?"

"You're tryin' to sabotage me."

"What are you talking about?"

He slammed the Camino's tailgate back to its upright position. "We're supposed to be platonic, man. We're not supposed to be foolin' around." He clutched the top of the tailgate and leaned into it. Maybe the pact had been a ruse from the get-go. She was playing him, getting revenge for all the things he'd done.

"Steven, look at me."

He didn't want to. His impulse was to get into his car and drive off somewhere, but doing that had led him and Jackie here. His self-protective instincts were outdated and faulty. More often than not, they caused him to veer into ditches or crash into telephone poles.

He faced her and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

"You wanna go first?"

The pain in her eyes was evident, but she nodded. "I really am sorry, Steven. My body wants what it wants. It's being goaded by this," she patted the center of her chest, "but you're right. My heart has to take orders from my mind, and my body has to fall in line."

"You're not alone there." He leaned against the tailgate again, this time with his back to it. His head had begun to pound. Too much of his blood had traveled southward. "You've already paid the price for what other people did. Shouldn't have accused you of tryin' to mess with me."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to concentrate. Emotional honesty, man. That was the only way to fix what was broken. "Expectin' people to fuck me over is what saved my ass."

"I know." Her fingers tangled together in front of her stomach. "I'm not out to hurt you, not today. Not ever."

"Yeah, I figured that one out. Too late, as fuckin' usual."

"Not too late. You didn't run away from me." She stepped toward him, and he welcomed her hand on his cheek. "You stayed." Her thumb glided over his sideburn. "You saw me."

"Almost didn't."

"But you did." Her thumb moved over his lips, drawing out a smile. "You're changing, Steven."

"Not fast enough," he said, and his smile faded. "I'm havin' a hard time not touching you, emphasis on _hard_." She giggled and tugged on his belt loops, but he was serious. "I wanna stick to our pact, man. No matter how good sex feels with you, I gotta show you I can do this."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and gazed at him seductively. "You think sex feels good with me?"

"We probably shouldn't be talkin' about that." He scratched the back of head and looked down at the garage floor. His erection had weakened, but he was still in the threat zone. "In fact, we should probably separate for about ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen. You take the bathroom. I get your room."

"Wait a sec—" He pushed himself from the tailgate, but Jackie was off and running. She slipped through the garage's side door, and he laughed as he chased after her.

This chick … her ability to forgive was the eighth wonder of the world. Him being on the receiving end had to be the ninth. She was giving him room to fall and the chance to get back up, even while taking ownership of her mistakes.

He stopped at the backyard fence as she reached the house. She disappeared inside, and his fingers traced the bead under his Adam's apple. Jackie's necklace really did feel right against his skin, like it belonged there—and for the first time since falling in love with her, he felt like they might belong together, too.

* * *

_July 4, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_The Formans' Backyard_

**…**

The Formans and Pinciottis were holding a joint Fourth of July celebration. It spanned both their properties, and the sun shone equally on their houses, but Jackie was keeping to the Formans' backyard. Her mother had come home for the month. Worse, Mr. Pinciotti had welcomed her mother back into his bed, even knowing the arrangement was temporary.

Jackie didn't want to see her. Nor did she want to watch Steven's attempts to impress her. That meant staying away from the Pinciottis' property, but not everything was rainbows and unicorns at the Formans'. The whole neighborhood had been invited to this party, yet Donna had chosen Jackie as her own personal complaint office.

"Eric's been back for three days," Donna said. She was gesturing wildly, and lemonade splashed out of her cup. "Three frickin' days, and he's over there," she indicated the Pinciotti's yard, "flirting with _your_ mother!"

"Would you rather he be flirting with his own mom?" Jackie said. They were standing by a picnic table. It was covered by a cloth inspired by the American flag, and plates of cheeseburgers were spread on it.

"Your mom already, like, hijacked my dad," Donna said. "My boyfriend's barely back from Africa. I'd like to spend a little time with him."

"It's not my fault Burkhart women are irresistible."

Heat rose from the burgers. They'd been freshly grilled, and Jackie's stomach rumbled. She ignored her appetite, however, and walked toward the garage. She hoped Donna would take the hint and leave her alone.

"Jackie—" Donna's footsteps crunched on the grass, following her. "This is important."

A sugar maple obscured the garage's side. Jackie wished she could hide behind it. Steven had been hijacked by her mother, too. Their updated pact didn't contain any rules about that, but he should've known better. "Go talk to stupid Eric about it."

"Oh, I will, but you can't tell me you're happy with your mom either."

"I'm not." She kicked at a clod of grass and dirt. It flew past Donna's legs and broke apart on the ground. "But what can I do? If I had any control over her, she'd be a sexier, classier version of Mrs. Forman. Instead, she flutters in and out of my life like a hundred-dollar bill caught in the wind."

"Yeah, I know." Donna frowned. "I'm sorry."

"She's ridiculous. I told her that I'd gotten into the Milwaukee Fashion Institute, and guess what she congratulated me on? Not the acceptance or the scholarship but for 'getting a man to pay for the rest of the tuition'. Can you believe that?"

"Unfortunately, I can. You wanna see if the bozos have come back yet?"

"Oh, why not?" Jackie said. Steven, Eric, and Fez had to get bored with her mother sometime, didn't they?

Jackie and Donna dashed to the backyard fence. They scanned the Formans' driveway, but Steven hadn't returned. Neither had Eric or Fez. "What the hell could they be doing?" Donna said.

Jackie's eyes fell shut, and she inhaled a calming breath. "I don't even care."

"Well, I do."

Donna left Jackie's side, and Jackie turned away from the driveway. She and Steven should've been in Milwaukee. His father had invited them to spend July 4th with him, but Steven wanted to spend time with Eric. She couldn't fault him for that—Eric had been gone for six months—but bonding while ogling Jackie mother?

She kicked at the ground again, and another clod of grass went flying. Her pact with Steven had half a year to go. They'd updated it to allow for non-sexual touching. A lot of their time together was spent in each other's arms, hugging and cuddling. Experiencing his physical affection left no doubts as to how much he loved her. Her body was safe with him, in ways it had never been with Michael, but she still wasn't sure about her heart.

* * *

"Yeah, she's real freakin' charming," Hyde said to the crowd in Bob's backyard. People were trying to get him to back off of Pam Burkhart. She had tears in her eyes. Hyde had put them there, but they were finally in their rightful place. Jackie had cried too damn much because of her mom, and he was done.

"You gonna deny it?" he said to Pam. "Or are you gonna fess up to partying in Mexico while your kid had nowhere to sleep? Nothin' to eat?"

"He's being dramatic." Pam showed the crowd her artificially bright smile, but her lilting voice was cracking. "We have a beautiful mansion on Rose Boulevard. She slept there, and the housekeeper prepared meals for her."

"Bullshit. Jackie had no money to pay for the housekeeper 'cause you spent it on booze. She had to fend for herself, to deal with foreclosures and banks and a whole bunch of crap that ain't her responsibility. She was sixteen, man—"

"Jackie's always been resourceful. Sixteen or not, she managed to take care of herself." Pam brushed her feathered hair off her shoulder in the same haughty way Jackie often did. "I needed some me-time after Jack's betrayal, and tequila isn't booze. It's—"

Murmurs rumbled through the crowd, and she covered her mouth. She'd screwed up—and she knew it.

A frail-looking elderly woman stepped forward and shoved a bony finger in Pam's face. "You are a horrible woman! Children are precious. Precious!"

"Come, Helen."Another elderly woman, plump, steered the first woman away.

"Pammy?" Bob had a few American flag toothpicks sticking out of his perm. A plate was in his hands with two hot dogs on it. "Is everything all right?"

"No!" Pam bolted across the backyard and shoved open the front fence's gate.

Bob didn't pursue her. He took a big bite out of a hot dog, but Forman and Fez grabbed onto Hyde's arms. They'd been part of the uninvited audience, and they pulled him to the hedge lining the back fence..

"What the hell was that?" Forman said.

"Yes," Fez said, "how could you make such a sexy whore cry?"

Forman rammed his fist into Fez's shoulder, but the punch was sloppy. "Don't call Pam a whore. She's a classy, slightly older woman who deserves our respect. And _you..._ " he slapped Hyde's chest with the same sloppiness, "you took away my pretty lady."

"You have a pretty lady. Her name is Donna." Hyde grasped Forman's shoulders to steady him. Forman had sucked down more than a few beers at this shindig. He'd wanted to let loose today, to shake off his long-held tension, but Hyde recognized self-destruction all too well. "I know you've been hard up, Forman," he snapped his fingers in Forman's face, "but get it together. Quit hittin' on Pam-fuckin'-Burkhart and talk to Donna about your crap already."

Hyde searched the backyard with his eyes and spotted Donna. She was walking past two of Bob's National Guard buddies. He gave Forman a less-than-gentle push in her direction, and Forman managed to stumble his way to her.

"Poor Eric," Fez said. "He is so insecure. Donna may be surrounded by strong, virile men in college, but she likes her men weak and skeletal."

Hyde adjusted his shades and scowled. "You've been suckin' on the Pinciottis' keg, haven't ya?"

Fez flung his arms in the air, "Viva L'Amedica!" then ran off.

Hyde was glad for the alone-time. He needed to cool down. Reaming out Pam Burkhart had come two years too late, but he'd been under strict orders to keep his mouth shut—issued by Jackie's pride. Her vulnerability had swayed him, but he wasn't her boyfriend anymore. They were friends, and nothing in their pact stipulated he couldn't confront her mother.

She was a woman who thrived on twisted half-truths. With her arsenal of seduction—a well-spoken compliment, a litany of empty promises—she convinced people to act against their own best interests.

"Damn it." Hyde's boots dug into the grass as he wove between party guests. Pam was going to tell Jackie her version of events first. If Jackie listened, if she absorbed that crap, then he might as well say goodbye. Because they were over.

* * *

Jackie was sitting inside the Formans' garage, waiting for Donna's return. Donna had been gone for a while, which meant she must have discovered something awful.

Were Steven, Eric, and Fez all making out with Jackie's mother? Had they gone that far? Jackie slouched morosely in her chair, but she was being paranoid. Steven had promised his body to her and to her alone. Pam Burkhart was the last woman he'd touch.

"Jackie!" Pam's high heels clacked on the driveway. "Jackie, I need to talk to you!"

Jackie stood up. The garage's back door led to the street. Escape was possible, but she didn't move.

"How could you do that to me?" Pam ran into the garage. She was crying but kept her voice a low hiss. "You sent your boyfriend to yell at me!"

"He what?" Jackie's pulse tightened. "Wait, who are you talking about?"

"Your boyfriend! That—that Hyde fellow!"

"Steven's not my boyfriend."

Pam wiped her teary face then smoothed down the ruffles of her blouse. As usual, the blouse was cut short and showed far too much cleavage. "Whatever. Your boy toy. The one who's paying for your college."

Jackie groaned and cupped her forehead. Why did her mother have to put things so badly? "He's a man, not a boy or a toy. We're not even having sex—"

"Well, no wonder he's so cranky."

"Mom!" Jackie peered around the garage. It had a lot of tempting blunt objects, but bashing her mother's skull in with a pipe wrench wouldn't accomplish anything. "If Steven was yelling at you, then you probably earned it—"

Pam's mouth dropped open, but only a squeak came out.

"Because he almost never yells," Jackie said with a deep breath, the last one her lungs took in. Her pulse had grown painful in her chest, making breathing difficult. "What did he say to you?"

"Awful, _awful_ things. People were staring, and an old woman jabbed her decrepit finger at me!"

"He—he yelled at you in public?" Jackie sat in the chair again. She'd become dizzy.

"Let's not play this game," Pam said after a moment. Jackie wasn't sure how much time had passed or if Pam had been talking during it. Jackie had blocked her out, just as Steven taught her to do, while regaining control of her breath. " _Jackie,_ I'm waiting."

She looked up at Pam with bleary eyes. Steven was walking up behind her, but Jackie gave no indication of his presence. "Waiting for what?"

Pam gestured as if the answer was obvious. "My apology."

"Go wait for it somewhere else." Steven said.

She grimaced and turned toward him. " _Excuse me?_ "

"Go wait for _someone else_ to give you one, too." He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "Jackie doesn't owe you shit."

Jackie gaped at him. Steven was defending her honor, not lusting after her mother. But Pam seemed about to retaliate. That dour look was on her face—the one where she might slap someone—but she strode away without a word. Her hair flew behind her as she left the garage, and Jackie blew out a shaky breath.

Steven pulled off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt collar. He squatted in front of her chair, and his hands slid over her knees. "You okay?"

His touch was comforting, and she mustered a smile. "I am now."

"Guess your ma told you what she thought I did."

"Not really. Just that you embarrassed her." She reached toward his necklace. He hadn't stopped wearing it since he first put it on, and her finger grazed the bead beneath his Adam's apple. "You didn't embarrass _me,_ did you?"

"Tried not to. Forman and Fez were fawnin' all over your mom, and it pissed me off. Remembered how I had to act the same way 'cause of your freakin' instructions—"

"Steven—" blood rushed to her face, "you were never that good at it."

"Hard to be enthusiastic about flirting with my chick's mom. Faked that attraction under protest."

A spark of joy floated inside her. She adored how he called her his chick _,_ but then her shoulders tensed. "I was afraid you weren't faking this time." .

"I wasn't. Decided your orders had expired, so I let her have it."

"Did you really yell at her?"

He drummed his fingers on her thighs."Might've turned up the volume a little. I'm sick of her bouncin' in and out of your life and expecting you to play ball."

His palms were warming her knees, and he looked at her with such devotion that she considered breaching their updated pact—closing and locking every door in the Formans' garage, pushing him against Mr. Forman's workbench, making him forget his body had ever been touched by anyone else—but she stayed seated. She patted his hands, and all her frustration escaped as a sigh.

"It's the same for me," he said. "I'm sick of bouncin' in and out of your life."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh?"

"Kept waitin' for you to dispossess me..." his gaze lowered to the cement floor, "but I kicked myself out."

She combed her fingers through the back of his soft, curly hair. "You kicked both of us out."

"Yeah. I did."

She began to respond, but metal clanking on metal penetrated her eardrums. Mr. Forman was standing a few feet away, striking a steel trash can with the pipe wrench. "All right, you two," he said, "quit makin' googly eyes at each other. You're scaring the neighborhood."

"We're what?" she said.

Mr. Forman struck the garbage can harder. "You're scaring the neighborhood! This isn't some makeout spot. It's where I keep my tools! Now get the hell out of my garage!"

"We weren't making out, Mr. Forman. We're—"

Steven grasped Jackie's hand before she could finish. He pulled her out to the backyard, and she collapsed against him in a fit of nervous laughter.

"We scare the neighborhood?" she said. " _He_ scares the neighborhood. Point Place would be lucky to watch us kiss. We could teach this town something."

"Probably." He responded to her anxious clinging by drawing her into a full embrace. "Hell, definitely."

His chin slid over her shoulder, and she took solace in his arms. This was where she belonged, with him. Every day, her confidence in that feeling grew stronger, but a lot could happen in six months or even a minute. One wrong thought. Leading to a terrible action. Then total devastation.

"Steven," she said by his ear.

"Yeah?"

"If I needed more time, to extend the deadline of our pact, what would you do?"

"I'd stick it out."

"Even if it were another year? Even if we don't make it after that?"

His arms loosened around her then fell to his sides. He stepped backward as a summer breeze swept through the grass, through his curls. "Not gonna bail … okay?" He cupped her cheek. "Don't need guarantees, Jackie. Just a fair shot."

His thumb caressed her skin, and the hairs at her nape prickled. How could he accept having only a chance? It had never been enough for her. But Steven clearly believed she was worth the risk of total collapse.

"You have it," she said. He was cradling both her cheeks now, and his forehead pressed against hers. He seemed happy until an ache settled over his winter-blue eyes. "No one can take your place," she said, hoping she read him right. "You're irreplaceable."

Her forehead rocked with the movement of his nod. "So are you."

* * *

_September 28, 1980_

_Milwaukee, Wisconsin_

_William Barnett's Mansion_

**...**

Hyde's closet at W.B.'s place was too damn big, but almost nothing of his own filled it. A few pairs of jeans, a wool coat with thick gloves stuffed inside, and a woolen skull cap—all of which W.B. bought him—and that was about it. The rest of the closet stored Jackie's weekend crap, and he shoved aside three pairs of her knee-high boots. Behind them he found one of her smaller suitcases, not what he was searching for.

"Damn it." He must have hidden her present in the closet's other side. He crossed the room and tried not to look at Jackie, but his eyes flicked to her as she sang his name. She was sitting on his bed, bouncing on it impatiently. "I know, I know.," he said. "Give me another minute."

He slid open the closet's right-most door. Jackie's clothes hung from hangers, and he split them into two groups. He needed room to maneuver. Only an hour was left before Jackie had to return to her dorm, but the present still eluded him.

He stepped back, and his eyes scanned the upper shelves. On the lowest of them, something black glittered behind a hat box. _Bingo._ He reached up, pushed the hat box over, and grasped the present wrapped in shimmering black paper.

"Yay!" Jackie applauded, and her bracelet seemed to applaud with her. Its charms were clattering against one another. A dress, a pair of scissors, and a car were the latest additions, commemorating the start of school. Back in August, he'd brought her to the Milwaukee Fashion Institute and helped move her in. "What did you get me?" she said as he passed her the present. "Wait, let me guess."

She laid the present across her lap, and her palms skimmed over the wrapping. This could take a while.

"It's not a new dress," he said and went to his desk.

"Shush!" She raised the present off her knees then placed it back down.

He dragged his desk chair close to the bed and sat down. Savoring gifts had become a ritual of Jackie's, but he wished she'd hurry up and open the thing. "You really wanna spend our last hour demonstrating your deductive reasoning skills?"

"'Our last hour'?" She frowned. "Don't say it like that. I'll see you again in less than a week."

"Feels longer. Gotta get through tonight, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thurs—"

"You're making next Friday sound as if it'll never come."

"You can make the time pass faster," he gestured to the present, "if you open _that_ faster."

She angled her head questioningly, but his answer lay inside the box. On the weekends, he drove up to Milwaukee. They stayed together in W.B.'s house, but she had the option of sleeping here whenever she wanted. W.B. had given her a set of keys, knowing what Jackie meant to Hyde. He also knew what Hyde planned to do at the end of the year.

"My birthday was six months ago," Jackie said and ripped off the present's wrapping. It revealed a shirt box. "Midterms aren't until next month, so why did you...?" She lifted off the box's lid, and her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. "No." A wet sheen formed over her eyes. "No, Steven—"

Inside the box was his favorite Led Zeppelin shirt.

"Yeah." He leaned forward on the chair. His left hand balled into a fist, and right hand squeezed it. He had to concentrate on his body, to keep his feelings level. She couldn't realize what was at stake for him here. "Look, even if you don't kiss me on New Year's, no other chick's gonna earn that shirt."

She brought the shirt to her nose and inhaled. "It smells like you do after a shower." Then, much to his surprise, she unbuttoned her blouse.

Her lacy purple bra outlined her breasts perfectly, but his gaze wandered to her belly button. He hadn't seen this much of her bare in almost a year—she'd stuck to one-piece bathing suits over the summer, out of consideration for him—and the shock transformed into hard-on. He squeezed his left fist tighter. This glimpse of her was torturous, but it ended when his shirt dropped over her body.

She stood up and modeled for him. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful." The admission slipped from his throat easily. "Can't believe you're wearin' it."

"Oh, I wore it before." She spoke as if it were common knowledge and sank down onto his lap. Her arms looped around his neck. Her legs straddled his hips, and he hoped like hell she couldn't feel his erection. "Just privately ... but why did _you_ wear it?"

"It's a cool freakin' shirt."

"No, I mean last New Year's Eve."

"Oh, uh..." His voice knotted up. He grunted a few times to loosen it. "Wanted to wear somethin' that reminded me to do what's right."

"Like let me go?" she said and kissed him below his jawline, right at his pulse point.

"Jackie—" His arms rose off her hips, and his hands splayed on her back. Her kisses were growing thicker and hotter on his neck. "Knock it off," he whispered. His jeans had become uncomfortably tight, and her wriggling made it worse. "I'm not losin' you over this," he said louder even as his eyes closed. She felt too damn good against him, and he groaned while edging off the seat.

"You don't have to let me go." Her mouth found his earlobe, and the light tug of her teeth crackled through his nerves. She had to notice how his body was reacting. A year's worth of fantasies were assaulting him, causing him to inch further off the chair. He repositioned his legs and stabilized himself, prevented him and Jackie from crashing to the floor.

"I'm gonna end up inside you if don't get the fuck off me." The warning came out rougher than he intended. Breathing was an effort, and his thoughts were hazy.

"What if I want that?" She kissed his barely-responsive lips.

"Then wait for it." He purposely moved them another inch off the chair, and her feet slammed onto the floor for balance. "We're not breakin' the pact."

"The pact's finished."

"So this is a goodbye screw?"

"Why do you always go there?" She shook him, and they rocked precipitously on the chair's edge. His leg muscles tensed to keep them both from falling. "No," she said, "it's finished as in _complete._ I don't have to wait another three months."

"Quick change, man. Why? 'Cause I gave you my fuckin' shirt back?"

"No!" She shook him harder, and they toppled off the chair. He cupped the back of her head protectively and held her close as they fell. She gasped, but he twisted them onto their sides a split-second before impact. Both his shoulder and elbow slammed into the floor.

"Steven—!" Her voice was muffled by his chest. They were tangled together on the carpet, too close to the bed frame. "Puddin', are you okay?"

"Hit my funny bone." He wiggled his fingers as pain traveled from his elbow to his hand. Then he rolled onto his back while holding onto her. "Be careful gettin' up. Bed's right there."

She didn't climb off him. Instead, she hugged herself to his body and tucked her head in the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like jasmine, a sweet and sensual floral scent that wreaked havoc with his system. It turned him on and damped his apprehension, his only remaining safety net.

" _This_ is why the pact's complete," she said. "You've been doing everything you can not to hurt me. You gave up so much—"

"You were willing to do the same for me." His fingers brushed through her hair slowly, indulgently. "And givin' you up, man … dumbest move I ever made."

She hugged him tighter. "Giving up on you was mine. I never should've left before you could tell me your answer."

She was talking about the marriage ultimatum, about Chicago. His lips grazed the top of her head, and he inhaled more jasmine. Heat spread through his body at the smell, but his need for her would have to go unsatisfied. "Love's a bitch, you know?"

"No, it's not." She moved off him, rolling to her right and into the desk chair. She seemed unhurt and got to her feet. "Neither of us are going to be complacent," she said and gestured for him to stand. He pushed himself off the floor, and her arms slipped around his waist. "We both know what the consequences are." She drew him close and kissed him. His mouth remained unresponsive. "Steven—"

"Can't risk it," he said.

"Risk what? Trusting me?"

"No, that's not—I gotta wait 'til New Year's."

"You don't." She kissed him again, but his lips still wouldn't accept her. "Baby, this isn't a test or a trick. We modified our pact in April from the original rules. I'm ready for it to end. You've proven yourself to me. What do I have to do?."

"You're not the problem," he said as adrenaline flowed into blood. "I can't promise I won't fuck up—"

"I trust you." She pulled herself closer to him. Pushed her chest into him, but his focus wasn't on her breasts but the beating organ behind them. It was loyal to him—and that loyalty fueled her actions, just as his loyalty to her fueled his. Maybe he wouldn't disappoint her after all. "I don't need a guarantee," she said, "just a chance of having a future with you."

"You got more than a chance." He kissed her with all he'd been holding back. A startled cry escaped her, but then she gripped his shirt. No space existed between their bodies as their mouths reconnected. Their hands explored familiar but much-missed territory, kindling an arousal deeper than his flesh.

She coaxed him onto his bed, but he tried slowing things down, to make this moment a sampler instead of a full-course meal. They had only twenty minutes left. Then they'd have to leave.

"Your roommate," he managed to say between kisses.

"Won't be bothered." Jackie was under him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. "I'm staying here tonight, with you."

Her answer extinguished the last of his concerns. They stripped each other naked, and her skin glided hotly against him. Her jasmine scent became his air. It drove him to her favorite places to be touched, where he expressed his devotion until she called his name desperately.

He grinned into her thigh before returning to her face. Sweat beaded across her hairline, and blood reddened her cheeks. Her fingers twisted into his damp curls, and she said, "You—you're making me feel like I'm all you want."

"You are." He inched his face closer to hers, but she stopped his approaching kiss. "What?"

Her legs tightened around his hips. "What you just did..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't have to. "Hey, it's okay, Grasshopper." He stroked her warm cheek. "You're not bein' selfish, all right? I brought you here. You can go to town on me next time."

"Next time." She breathed out the words happily. Then her slick, tender flesh pushed up against his hardness, and an impish smile rose on her lips. "This must be what it's like for you when I open a present."

He laughed. "Yup, the waiting's painful … and you're gonna have to wait a few more seconds." Rubbers were stashed in the nightstand. He separated from her and pulled one out, but he fumbled as he put it on himself. "Been a while," he said, and a sliver of fear wedged itself between his ribs. The last time he'd worn a condom, he'd been with Samantha.

"Steven?" Jackie's nails dragged along his back, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yesterday doesn't matter. It's gone.'"

He was impressed. She'd quoted the Rolling Stones. "Takin' liberties with 'Ruby Tuesday'? Played enough of those records for ya, huh?"

"You're with me now. Be with me."

He moved back over her body. Her thighs opened to accept him, but he dropped a kiss onto her lips and said, "Never loved anyone like this but you."

She swept his damp curls off his forehead, and that impish smile of hers returned. "I told you I'm an unforgettable woman. You're doomed."

"Nope." He eased into her, and she moaned her pleasure softly. "'Cause you love me back."

Her breaths were shallow. He'd buried himself deep inside her, and he pulled back his hips and buried himself again. "I'll never stop," she whispered, and it was the last coherent sentence either of them spoke.

* * *

_December 31, 1980_

_Point Place, Wisconsin_

_The Formans' Living Room_

**…**

Fifteen minutes remained until the new year, and the Formans' living room throbbed with sound. Champagne glasses clinked, Fez's candy wrappers rustled, and Betsy's feet stomped on the carpet. Music blasted from the television, and Angie Barnett's purse opened, but all the noise narrowed into Steven's soft breathing. Jackie had focused her senses on him.

They'd secluded themselves on the carpeted staircase, and a small gift-wrapped box was balanced on his fingertips. "Last charm of the year," he said.

"Only one? Usually they come in twos or threes."

"Only one, but it'll probably count for a hundred." He brought the box closer to her face. She snatched it up and tore off the wrapping paper. "Where the hell was this gusto the last eleven months?" he said, laughing, but the box's size had sent her heart into spasm. It was the perfect size for a—

"You really got me a charm?" She stared at the white _Cherish Beads_ lid. "Okay."

"Man," he kept chuckling, "how many times have assumptions gotten us into trouble?"

"Too many. Shut up." She pulled off the box's lid. The charm inside was obscured by tissue paper. She pushed it aside and found a pewter representation of … "A horseshoe?" She placed the charm on her palm. It couldn't be a horseshoe. The curved ends should've been open, but they were attached to a misshapen ball. "A doorknocker?"

Her brow creased. She was usually good at guessing his obscure symbols, but this one had her stumped.

"Zero for two, doll. Here's a hint." He held up a finger on his left hand, and she thought he was flipping her off. Then she realized he was showing his ring finger.

"It's a..." She put the charm above her own left ring finger, and both of her hands began to shake. "It's a—?"

He took the charm from her. "Lame depiction of a diamond ring, yeah." His warm, steady hand held her left wrist, and he hooked the charm onto her bracelet. "You'll get the real thing from me when we're ready—and if you want it—but I figured I'd give you this as a promise. An engagement to get engaged, I guess."

"Oh, my God..." She raised her trembling hands to her mouth. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." She'd plummeted into a stupor, but she climbed out and slapped his knee. "I'm ready!" She slapped his knee two more times. "I'm ready, I'm ready!"

"Thought you might say that." He stood and descended the stairs, and blood rose to her face. He was _so_ not leaving her after a tease like that. She pushed herself up, and he called back, "You comin'?"

He was acting too cool, too Zen. Suspicion propelled her down the staircase, and he grasped her hand at the bottom. Two more carpeted steps led to the living room, but he kept her on the landing.

"Attention, everyone!" he shouted, and half the guests turned toward them. "Hey! Over here!" A few more heads turned, but some people were too distracted by their own activities.

"EVERYBODY," Jackie yelled, "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING. _RIGHT NOW!_ " She'd used her most piercing, demanding voice, and the room fell quiet. All eyes were finally fixed on her and Steven.

"Uh … thanks," he said and scratched the back of his neck. It was the first crack in his calm. "I like doing things like this in private, but I also hate havin' to repeat myself a thousand times. Since you're all here..." He knelt down on one knee, a move that tightened her throat. "Jackie..."

"St—Steven," speaking was difficult, but she forced the words out, "you don't kneel."

"You'd kick my stones to get me down here," he said, "so I chose to skip that part."

The air vibrated with laughter. Eric and Donna's voices were the most discernible, but she refused to acknowledge them.

"Also," Steven reached behind himself, "I wanted to do this right."

"Can you do it before 1985?" Mr. Forman said, but Jackie's didn't know from where Steven had just produced a black velvet ring box, and she wouldn't look away from it.

"Red, hush!" Mrs. Forman said. "Steven's finally doing this with the right girl!"

The comment made Steven swallow and look at the floor, but his gaze rose as he opened the velvet box. Inside was a three-stone engagement ring. A large diamond sat between two smaller ones, and the three of them were surrounded by even smaller pavé diamonds. Pavé diamonds also encircled the white-gold band.

"Well?" he said.

"'Well,' what?" Her lungs threatened to collapse, but she willed them to keep working. "I'm not assuming anything. It only gets us into trouble."

"He's asking you to marry him, you fool!" Fez yelled, but she had to be sure.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you?"

Steven licked his lips. His discomfort was clearly growing, but he said, "The corporate money-grubbin', movie-fantasy version of being hitched ain't me. And it's got nothin' to do with outdated rituals or religious beliefs—'cause you know I don't got any." He plucked the ring from the box, and the box dropped to the floor. "Finishing out my life without you … I faced that prospect once. Wasn't pretty."

"But it sure was busty!" Donna shouted, obviously buzzed on champagne, and Jackie made a decision. The next time she or Steven had a major announcement to make, no booze was allowed.

"What I'm askin' is to share your future," Steven said, as if he hadn't been heckled, and his eyes didn't leave Jackie's face. "That's what gettin' hitched really means to you, so that's what it means to me."

"Oh, Puddin'..." Her whole body trembled. She was sweating through her blouse, and her perfectly curled hair had to be going flat. Steven didn't care about marriage or weddings, but she understood why. They weren't guarantees of a relationship lasting.

His hand slid beneath her left palm, and his fingers wrapped around it. "Jackie, you up for this? Look at my ol' man there." He nodded toward W.B. "His dad—my grandpa—is over eighty, and he runs freakin' marathons. I ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon, so you're gonna have to put up with me for a while." His lips lifted into a smirk. "Sure you can handle it?"

"More than sure." She tapped her fingertips on his wrist. "There's no one else for me."

His smirk widened into a grin. "This is better than seeing Zeppelin—"

"A damnable lie!" Eric shouted.

Steven ignored him and glided the engagement ring up her ring finger. She gave the diamonds a loving glance before flinging her arms around his neck. He was shaking as badly as she was, but he embraced her tightly and picked her up off her feet. They shared an exhilarating kiss, and applause and cheers burst in the air like fireworks.

Family and friends came up to them afterward, offering congratulatory hugs until Mr. Forman said, "Be happy for them next year. We've got two minutes to get outside and—"

"Blow stuff up!" Michael said. He and Betsy dashed to the kitchen together, pursued by a concerned-looking Brooke.

"Everybody outside! Move it! Move it!" Mr. Forman waved for everyone to follow him, and the living room emptied out except for two. Jackie and Steven had stayed behind on the carpeted landing.

"This is the best New Year's Eve ever," she said, smiling. "But why is Mr. Forman obsessed with celebrating on the driveway? It's freezing out there."

"Who cares?" Steven's hand slipped up her back, and his fingers threaded through her hair. "Got a much better tradition for celebratin' the New Year."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Her eyes drifted closed as he leaned in for a kiss. His soft lips brushed over her mouth, making her skin tingle. His love and reverence were rippling through her body as hot chills, and she gave back the same in good measure.

If the clock were counting down, neither of them noticed. They parted only when people returned inside and gawked at them. "Way to ring in the New Year," Angie said. Randy was chuckling behind her. "Tonguing your way to 1982."

"You should try it some time," Steven said and draped his arm over Jackie's shoulders. Her own arm was slung around his waist. "Happy New Year, sis."

"Happy New Year, bro." Angie's eyes met with Randy's, and she shared his laughter. They walked off together, and Fez darted out from behind the couch and followed.

"Poor Fez," Jackie said. "He never chooses right."

"Nope." Steven kissed her temple gently. "Who do you think he's chasin' after? Randy or Angie?"

She shrugged beneath his arm. "Maybe both of them—and you won our wager. Fez made no grand proclamations about his sexuality."

"Yup … but I won a lot more than that." He was talking about her—but, she hoped, he also meant himself. They'd both almost lost him to a bottomless abyss. Had he fallen, she would've been lost, too.

She gripped the material of his shirt and whispered, "Thank you for coming back to me."

"You brought me back."

"You let me," she said, and the conversation ended there. He picked her up again, this time like a husband carrying a bride.

They disappeared into the Formans' den, and he didn't put her down until they reached his room. Desire licked at her insides when he joined her on his cot. His eyes reflected back the same desire, and their personal celebration continued long into the new year.


End file.
